The Longest Day
by NanashiSaito
Summary: "ON THE LONGEST DAY OF THE THOUSANDTH YEAR, THE STARS WILL AID IN HER ESCAPE, AND SHE WILL BRING ABOUT NIGHTTIME ETERNAL" An alternate-universe continuation of Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality, wherein Harry learns of a different, ancient, powerful kind of Magic. Spoiler alert: It's Friendship.
1. One Small Thing

_"ON THE LONGEST DAY OF THE THOUSANDTH YEAR, THE STARS WILL AID IN HER ESCAPE, AND SHE WILL BRING ABOUT NIGHTTIME ETERNAL"_

 _Prophecy spoken by Anstice Trelawney near the newly constructed Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, December 21, 992 C.E._

* * *

 _Somewhere_  
 _April 16 1992_

Hermione Jean Granger was dead.

Or at least, she reasoned that she was dead.

She last remembered drawing in a breath and whispering to Harry, "Not your fault." She exhaled, and closed her eyes, and distantly heard his voice say, "Don't do this." But she did, and now she was here.

Where was here?

Her legs were chewed off by a troll. It was terribly painful at first, but once she began losing enough blood, the shock overrode the physical pain, and she knew she was going to die. And now she was dead. There really wasn't any other rational explanation.

She was alone now, cut off the world, devoid of sensory perception, a singular consciousness simply _existing_ , capable of one thing, and one thing only: thinking.

 _I think, therefore I am._

She was thinking, therefore she _was_. But simply _being_ is not the same as being _alive_ , at least in the sense that she was used to thinking about things.

She tried to think what Harry would do in a situation like this. Science. He would do science, of course. Step 1: Form a hypothesis. Step 2: Do an experiment to test your hypothesis.

The problem was, how exactly does one go about falsifying theories like, "I'm in the afterlife" or "I'm just having a bad dream"?

She supposed she could falsify the Dream theory by never waking up? But she didn't want to not wake up. She could imagine Harry's somber face reminding her that reality was indifferent, that her _wants_ would have no bearing on the results of the experiment. But she wasn't so sure that was the case in this world. This world was hers, this world was her.

She had the nagging feeling that, if she so chose, she could simply fade away into oblivion, abdicating her mind to a blissful eternity of nothing. After all, her entire "self" only persisted through the active, conscious act of thought, which she could deliberately cease at any moment.

But she didn't want to, so she didn't.

Instead, she decided to do bad science. Her new hypothesis was, "I am NOT in a dream." If she could do something that she could only do in a dream, she would falsify that hypothesis, and therefore prove that she was in fact, dreaming.

She was fairly certain that science didn't actually work like that, but she didn't have any better ideas at the moment.

She thought about the few times she had lucid dreams. What was it like? She could see, hear, feel, smell, taste… There was a world, albeit one of her own making, to interact with. It may have been a paper-thin veneer of a world, but it was a world nonetheless. This, on the other hand, was emptiness. It was nothing.

If she was dreaming, she could make something out of nothing, and so she tried. She thought about a ball. Just a simple toy ball, to start with. At first, she considered it too abstractly, she was envisioning the concept of "ball", and got nowhere. She tried again. This time, she tried to actually visualize what this specific ball would look like in reality. She defined its size, its color, its material. She imagined it close up, what it would have felt like if she had a sense of touch, the smell of the rubber against her fingers, the sound it made as she ran her hands across it. She fixed those values in her mind.

This was her ball. Baby steps, she told herself.

She now tried to think about the ball in relation to another object: a floor. A simple, floor of polished metal with no detail besides its preternaturally smooth surface. How would the ball interact with the floor if she, for example, dropped it? What about if she bounced the ball? She played over various scenarios in her head, sketching out in excruciating detail the behavior of the ball.

After nine or ten different scenarios, she noticed something interesting. _She_ was the one playing with the ball. Her. Without even deliberately trying to, she was imagining _herself_ , her own mind giving herself Form without conscious direction. The form had no details, it was just an edgeless mass of shadows, but it was unmistakably _her_.

She looked down. She now had a persistent form in this world: fractal black shadows, roiling and twisting, undefined and yet concrete. This was her, and she held her ball, and she was bouncing it against her floor.

Baby steps, indeed. _So_ , she thought to herself. _This is a dream, after a fashion._

But a dream of what? Her brain had ceased to function, presumably. And the patterns of information that made up her identity, those patterns were represented by a physical brain when she was alive. That brain took those patterns and gave them weight and meaning and a means of interacting with other patterns, and it was still. Lifeless and fading.

But her brain was simply the medium. Her brain was not _her_. When she was in school before Hogwarts, one of her maths professors had scrawled the first seven or so iterations of the Fibonacci sequence upon the blackboard. When he eventually erased the writing, that did not remove the Fibonacci Sequence from reality. Once established, the Sequence would persist, iterating on into the infinite, regardless of whether some professor manifested those iterations on a blackboard, even if no one was there to observe it.

She figured that this was the case with her; she was simply a pattern of information. An enormously complex, self-referential pattern that happened to be aware of itself, but she was a pattern nonetheless. Once established, that pattern would persist, iterating on into the infinite, regardless of whether some collection of protein and fat manifested those iterations in the world or not, even if no one was there to observe her, besides herself.

It was a reasonable enough explanation, although at the moment she hadn't the slightest idea how she might go about testing that particular hypothesis. But it didn't really matter much, did it? If her theory was wrong, it was wrong, but there was nothing to lose.

Now that the had a vague concept of how things might work, she needed a plan. She knew what she wanted: she wanted to return to the real world, to go back to being a flesh and blood girl, to see her friends, her family, her teachers again. She also knew that she had a friend in that real world who would likely stop at nothing to make that happen.

She had heard Harry talk ad nauseam about cryonics, the science of freezing a body upon death in order to preserve the brain until a future era in which it would be possible to reconstruct the damage caused by death and restore someone to the world of the living. She had seen the wisdom of his suggestions, but had never quite gotten around to having the "Hey mum and dad, I want you to freeze my corpse if I die" conversation.

She suspected that Harry would likely take matters into his own hands. He had once sought her assistance in learning the Glacius charm, a third-year spell. He never told her why, and she never asked, although she had her guess, which was most likely accurate.

It would be completely in character for Harry to steal her body, freeze it, and then stash it away somewhere. He probably had a walk-in freezer somewhere in the depths of the extended space in his trunk, procured specifically for this purpose. She wondered how he would provide it with power, since it wasn't like Hogwarts had an electrical outlet anywhere. She recalled from the instruction manual of her parents' chest freezer that it used around 400 kilowatt hours.

She did the quick mental math. 2,000 kilocalories a day was what an average person consumed. At four thousand joules per kilocalorie, that was 8 million joules per day. Watts were joules divided by seconds, and there were 86,400 seconds in a day, so that was a little bit less than 100 watts. Multiply that by 24 hours in a day by 365 days in a year and you had more than enough power to run a freezer.

She wondered how many calories a house elf consumed?

She noted that, as her conscious mind focused on this digression, she could "see" abstract representations out of the corners of her "vision". As she was thinking, she witnessed herself crawling into her chest freezer to see if it had enough space; she observed Harry eating toast just to make sure he actually consumed calories like a normal person; she watched, bemused, as a woebegone house elf pedaled laboriously away at a bicycle generator.

Whenever she tried to focus on these abstract visions, they flitted away as easily as they came to her. But she found that if she gave them weight, specificity, deliberate boundaries and identities, they would persist.

Harry had told her once that if there was an outlandish solution to a problem that required little to no effort, you may as well try it, on the off chance that it would actually work. If it didn't, well, then you haven't really lost much. It was for this reason that Harry had pledged allegiance to the deities of a hundred or so gods of various, mentioning that he was willing to bet thirty seconds of his life on Pascal's Wager, and that was it.

So, she built herself a Harry.

He stood before her. She studied its face. It was a formless mass, devoid of specific details, and yet she knew it was him. It was like looking at the night sky, how you could see the stars clearly from the corners of your vision but when you tried to look at them directly, they faded into darkness. When it spoke, it sounded like Harry, at least when he was saying things she remembered him saying in the past.

It didn't reply when she asked it if it was alive. She tried to think what Harry would say if that same question was asked of him. The simulacrum replied in a voice that wasn't-quite-Harry's: "I certainly feel alive, but that doesn't really say much, does it?"

She decided to try carrying on a conversation with her not-Harry, filling in what she thought the real Harry would say. "Am I dead?" She asked it.

The concept of FROWN splashed across its face. "Yes, but I'm working on fixing that."

"Do you think you'll succeed?"

"Yes. Eventually."

"So, is there an easy way out? Is there some pathway you can you lead me down that ends in a door that I can open and walk back out into the real world?"

It considered for a moment. "You're trying the outlandish solution aren't you?"

She smiled. "Of course."

"Well, I applaud you on that, but I don't think that will work. After all, you know this isn't really me. It's just your expectations of what I might do or say. You'd have to be able to contain two whole brains worth of information in your one brain for it to really be me, and that seems like a contradiction in terms. It's interesting that I'm the avatar for your inner monologue when it comes to science-y type things. It's not weird, I don't think. I told you once that I have simulations of lots of my friends in my head. If I think something might be unethical or wrong, I try to ask my not-Hermione what she would do."

As it spoke on, its voice sounded less like Harry, and more like Hermione trying to speak in Harry's voice.

Oh well, it was worth a shot.

Instead, she thought back over the multitude of books she had read, trying to think of any magicks capable of translating dreams back into reality. One particular entry came to mind, "Extremities of Particular Importance" by Alexander Phaethon. It detailed the history and descriptions of several magical locations and artifacts, many of which were considered little more than myth. The depth and breadth of its research led many to consider it a sequel of sorts to "A History of Magic", including Bathilda Bagshot herself. However, many others were left unsatisfied by its frequent forays into the world of unfamiliar mythology and the fantastic.

One of those fantastic places it described was the dreamscape of Tír inna n-Óc. Chapter twenty, page four-thirty-six, her near-photographic memory helpfully provided:

 _"The town of Ipswich often claims to be Britain's oldest town, since it is known that the community has persisted unbroken since the early seventh century. The wizarding world knows better – Diagon Alley is the oldest continuous community in Britain, surviving since the fourth century before Christ, when it began as a single cottage built by a Greek wizard, a wanderer who had abandoned his century-long journey in search of the legendary Cup of Midnight in order to create a home in this distant land of savages. In one shape or another Diagon has existed ever since, rebuilding homes and shops as needed. It is because of this antiquity that, when Merlin wrought the stone of the Wizengamot and made himself the leader of the magical world, he did so in London. He may have also been honouring the long-ago Greeks who brought wands and high magic to Britain for the first time, although he said nothing of this._

 _Tír inna n-Óc is older._

 _That fact no longer means much, truth be told. Tír inna n-Óc was woven from nightmare before Ελαολογος even left in pursuit of the Cup of Midnight, and by the time that Cup was broken in the tenth century – woe be upon the breaker of that precious cup! – the hellscape of Tír inna n-Óc had already been abandoned by the Tuath and the Unseelie, and no creature called it home._

 _The realm persisted, regardless. It had been crafted from the horror-dreams of nameless beasts of the sea, creatures no longer known to man or wizard that lie still and breathe salt and do not die, and Tír inna n-Óc would endure as long as they."_

It further explained that the place transcended physicality and could be accessed from anywhere on the planet using a dark ritual that had, unfortunately, been lost to time. She decided that if the dreams of these nameless eldritch horrors could be used to build an alternate plane of existence, then so could hers.

And so it was that she set about the task of building the kingdom of her dreams.

* * *

 _The Forbidden Forest_  
 _June 3rd, 1992_

Harry had checked the books, had learned that since he was too young to have sexual thoughts he would be able to approach a unicorn without fear. The same books had said nothing about unicorns being smart. Harry had already noticed that every intelligent magical species was at least partially humanoid, from merfolk to centaurs to giants, from elves to goblins to veela. All had essentially humanlike emotions, many were known to interbreed with humans. Harry had already reasoned out that magic didn't create new intelligence but just changed the shape of genetically human beings. Unicorns were equinoid, were not even partially humanoid, didn't talk, used no tools, they were almost certainly just magical horses. If it was right to eat a cow to feed yourself for a day, then it had to be right to drink a unicorn's blood in order to stave off death for weeks. You couldn't have it both ways.

So Harry had gone into the Forbidden Forest wearing his Cloak. He had searched the Grove of Unicorns until he saw her, a proud creature with a pure white coat and violet hair, with three blue blotches on her flank. Harry had gone over, and the sapphire eyes had stared at him inquisitively. Harry had tapped out the sequence 1-2-3 on the ground several times with his shoes. The unicorn had shown no sign of responding in kind. Harry had reached over, taken her hoof in his hand, and tapped the same sequence with the unicorn's hoof. The unicorn had only looked at him curiously.  
And something about feeding the unicorn the sleeping-potion-laced sugar cubes had still felt like murder. At least, it would have, if not for the curious barking noise.

He looked up from his grim work, trying to identify the source of the noise in the dark. It seemed to come from a ways off in the distance, and something about the high pitched, wheezy noise suggested that its source would not pose much of a physical threat. It wasn't a low, rumbling sound that Harry might have expected from a large dog, nor was it an aggressive growl. It sounded frightened, possibly even wounded.

The thought crossed Harry's mind that whatever had wounded the dog could easily do the same, if not worse, to him. But upon logical consideration, (combined with a fair bit of wishful thinking), Harry concluded that the non-sapient creatures that lived within the Forbidden Forest would never actually harm a student. Dumbledore would know that the Forest was a honeypot even more enticing than the third-floor corridor. Harry was quite certain that there would be beasts that were frightening, creatures that may threaten harm. But to actually follow through? As insane as Dumbledore was, he still valued the safety and well-being of his students.

At that particular thought, Harry felt a brief twinge of dark anger, but quickly suppressed it, and resumed his task with renewed resolve.

He had almost put the sound out of his mind until it returned, this time more insistent, and troublingly, closer. Aware that he was likely projecting intent where there was none, Harry thought that the bark carried with it hints of anger and frustration in addition to fear.

Warning signs that he had trained himself not to ignore began flashing in the back of his thoughts. He may have been safe from the creatures in the forest, or so he hoped, but his experience with the centaur served as a stark reminder that intelligent beings lurked within those woods. What if the incessant barking drew their attention? Harry was far from sure that he could rely on another deus ex machina from Professor Quirrell; it was due to his failing health that Harry was even here in the first place.

Even if harm did not come to him, it would be quite inconvenient if he were to be caught hunched over the body of an almost-dead unicorn. Although his justification was reasonable, he doubted that others would see things as he did. His anger began to creep back up as he imagined himself arguing with well-meaning idiots, pointing out the hypocrisy of their carnivorism and being met with looks of consternation.

The noise roused him from his angry thoughts, close enough now to where Harry realized he had to make a decision. He silently cursed himself as he acknowledged that he should have been thinking of a plan this entire time rather than reassuring himself that he was safe. He decided, rather impromptu, to simply hide and observe. He removed his broomstick from his pouch and placed it between his legs, ready to mount in the event he needed to beat a hasty retreat.

In a few short moments, the creature emerged into the clearing, and immediately began frantically barking upon seeing the collapsed body of the unicorn. It was, as Harry suspected, a dog, but one of the oddest dogs he had ever seen. It was small, no bigger than a Pekingese, mind you, and its fur was a pale violet, with green ears a tuft of darker green hair on the top of its head. It wore a darker purple spiked collar around its neck, and there was a clearly visible tag attached to the collar. Harry could see from the distance that the tag was embossed with an image of a heart, but couldn't discern if there was writing or not.

Either way, the implication was clear: this was someone, or something's pet. And judging by its reaction to seeing the almost-dead unicorn, Harry had an idea of whose it might have been. The implications of this had Harry feeling suddenly ill.

The dog let out a mournful, wailing howl, and loped over to the unicorn, pawing at her flank, sniffing around her ears. Tentatively, it poked the side of her face with its snout, and began howling again in earnest. It collapsed against her, curling into the crook of her neck and whimpering softly.

The unicorn's leg jerked slightly, immediately silencing the whimpers and moans, and the dog excitedly jumped up and paced around, unsure of what to do. It paused momentarily, then stiffened slightly as if it had an idea, and ran to the unicorn's snout, putting his ear against it. After a few short moments, it excitedly leaped into the air and shouted.

"HERE! She's over here!"

Harry blinked.

He had brief flashes of his "Snakes are sentient?" moment, but reminded himself that people don't eat dogs, or at least people in his culture don't. He considered the possibility that humans were waging systematic genocide and slavery against an entire sentient species. His inner Slytherin drowned out the other voices that began to come to life, shouting, "You won't be able to do anything about it if you're killed or thrown in jail, you prat!"

That seemed to do the trick, and Harry snapped out of his moment of contemplation to focus on the problem at hand. He could now hear voices, human voices from far off in the distance, but not the direction of the castle.

It was time to leave. Now.

He adjusted his footing in order to hop onto his broom, and as he did so, he stepped on an exceptionally poorly placed and inconveniently brittle fallen tree branch, which broke the silence with a resounding SNAP.

Immediately, the dog's head snapped up in the direction of the noise, stared straight at Harry, and began to charge.

Crap.

Harry fumbled with the broom, forcing it between his legs, but before he could launch, the dog was upon him, gripping the corner of the invisibility cloak in its teeth and ripping it from him, revealing all of Harry's head and most of his torso.

The remainder of the cloak was pinned between Harry's legs and the broomstick. As Harry tried to rise into the air, the broom pitched upward as he struggled to free the cloak from the curiously strong grip of the dog's jaws. The dog clamped down resolutely upon the fabric, stepping slowly backwards, dragging the broom backward in midair along with him.

Harry's mind raced. If he shrugged off his Cloak of Invisibility, he would free himself and could escape to safety. But it was his quest item, and he _really_ didn't want to lose it. Besides, there were no guarantees that he would even escape if he were to free his broom. And what if this dog-who-talks could be reasoned with?

Harry was about to come up with yet another brilliant rationalization for not leaving behind his Cloak when the decision was made for him: with a resounding SMACK, someone had crashed into him in a flying leap, knocking him from his broomstick to the ground.

"What'd you do with her, egghead?"

He was pinned down a witch who looked to be no older than a teenager, maybe a fifth or sixth year? She had short-cropped hair that he could have sworn was rainbow in color, and was wearing a jean jacket over her school skirt. Harry breathed out a sigh of relief; an angry student was, objectively, loads better than an angry centaur. She did not seem to appreciate his apparent relief, and shouted again.

"Answer me! Say something!"

"Uhmmm… What did I do with who?" Harry stammered.

"Our friend, dummy!" The girl shouted.

He had suspected as much. He hadn't considered that the unicorn may have been someone's pet. It seemed a bit of a stretch to call it a "friend", but he knew other people tended to be much fonder of animals than himself, so he didn't press the point. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize. I really didn't."

"Didn't realize what? What did you do to her?"

Harry didn't think now was the best time to mention that he fed the unicorn poisoned sugar-cubes, nor that he intended to eventually have its sweet, life-giving blood drained and consumed in what he could only assume was a ghastly ritual, unpleasant to behold. So instead, he said something that was true from a certain point of view: "I… I put her under an enchantment. In order to keep her safe."

At this, the dog, who had been lurking back a few paces and was now closer to the unicorn than Harry, perked his ears up and spoke. "What do you mean, keep her safe?"

As the dog spoke, Harry could hear other students making their way through the woods, although oddly enough, they weren't coming from the direction of Hogwarts. As he squinted through the darkness to try to make out their forms, the dog spoke again.

"Hey! You! What were you keeping her safe from?"

This one was easy enough for Harry to answer truthfully, "Something in this forest has been killing unicorns and eating them."

At this, the rainbow-haired girl and the dog exchanged dark, knowing glances, and the witch spoke. "Yeah… we know."

She stood up, still above him but no longer pinning him to the ground. As she did, several more students emerged into the clearing. It was three more witches, all around the same age as the rainbow-haired one. He was immediately stricken by their odd choices of wardrobes and hair colors. The first into the clearing was a blonde witch wearing boots and a cowboy hat, who immediately ran over to the unicorn upon seeing her and kneeled down.

The second to emerge had hot pink, curly hair and wore a ruffled skirt colored a similarly intense shade of pink. She didn't seem to walk so much as _bounce_ , and she seemed more interested in Harry than she did the unicorn. "OoooooooOOOOooo. You look like us!" she squealed as she peered down, wide-eyed over him.

Lastly, a timid-looking witch with pale pink hair and a blue dress emblazoned with butterflies peeked out from behind a tree, looking like she would rather be almost anywhere in the world besides a dark, scary forest populated with unicorn-eating monsters.

The girl standing over him looked to her friend in the cowboy hat. "We caught him casting a spell on her. Says he was trying to protect her, protect her from some kind of monster that's eating unicorns," she indicated down to Harry with one hand.

"Well, I'll be hogtied," the witch in the cowboy hat drawled. She had a curious accent; it reminded Harry of the female detective in an American movie his father had taken him to see last summer, The Silence of the Lambs, much to the consternation of his mother when she found out. The accent stood out to him then because he had never heard anything like it before, and it stood out to him now.

The girl with the pale pink hair shivered a bit and spoke in a voice barely louder than a whisper, "You don't think the monster is anywhere near here, do you?"

Harry spoke up, louder than he probably should have. "No, it's not. The last time I saw him, I… well, I scared it off." At this, the rainbow-haired girl and the bouncy pink witch who had been staring at him both seemed impressed.

"So, what's this enchantment you put on her?" the rainbow one asked.

"It put her to sleep. It's not permanent."

"Well, take it off, then!" she demanded.

Harry wasn't sure that a _Finite_ would actually do anything against the effects of a potion, but he figured he may as well give it a shot. Rainbow Witch, which Harry had begun to call her in his mind, stepped off of him, and he stood up, brushing branches off of his robes before pointing his wand at the unicorn.

"Finite Incatatem!"

The unicorn's equine features began to melt away into those of a human female with pale white skin and purple hair. Harry suddenly felt the urge to vomit.

His eyes grew wide as he consider just how incredibly short-sighted and _stupid_ his tests for sapience had been. Tapping 1-2-3? That's it? Because she failed to ape his pattern, he was prepared to drug her and present her almost-dead body to Professor Quirrell to feast upon. He wasn't sure which thought scared him more, the fact that he almost took part in murder, or what Professor Quirrell's reaction would have been upon drinking the blood of a transfigured Animagus instead of a unicorn. Either way, he vowed to be much, much more careful about this sort of thing in the future.

"She probably should get taken to a healer, just to be safe…" Harry started.

"Are there any nearby?" Scaredy-Cat asked. In absence of knowing their actual names, he had assigned them nicknames. In addition to "Rainbow Witch", he had nicknamed the timid one "Scaredy-Cat", the blonde witch "Clarice", and the pink one "Pinky".

Harry was a bit confused by her question. "Closer than the hospital wing? I doubt it… The centaurs might have one, but I don't think they're particularly keen on helping me out right now. I can bring her there on my broom, I think that would probably be fastest. You all can find your way out, right?"

"I'm coming with you, then!" the talking dog yelled.

Amidst fearing for his life and his momentary moral crisis, Harry had totally forgotten about the purple-and-green dog. Given that the girl he had poisoned was obviously an Animagus, the fact that the dog could speak like a human suddenly made a lot more sense.

"You should be small enough in that form for me to carry you. Are you an Animagus, too?" Harry asked.

"No, I'm a dragon!" the dog replied in an indignant tone that Harry mistook for sarcasm.

"Sure. Just, don't transform while we're up in the air, okay?"

At those words, Rainbow Witch's eyes immediately snapped up. "Did you say, 'up in the air'?"

Harry looked at her, curiously. He swung a leg over his broom and kicked off the ground, hovering a few feet over the forest floor to demonstrate. Rainbow Witch's jaw dropped.

"That. Is. AWESOME! Where can I get one?" She demanded.

"Jeez, you're acting like you've never seen a broomstick before… Look, just, meet me at the hospital wing and we can talk about it then. Will one of you help me get her," he indicated with his head towards the unconscious, purple-haired girl, "up on the broom?"

With a dull POP of an Appartion, yet another newcomer appeared in the clearing. Harry almost fell off his broom at the site of… whatever it was. At first, Harry though it was some kind of Satyr, as it stood on two legs and had the head of a horse. But upon closer inspection, he saw it had deer antlers, the arm of a lion, a lizard's leg, the claw of an eagle and the leg of a goat. It also had something that looked like a unicorn horn on the top of his head, and mismatched wings.

"Now you wait just a hot moment," the creature demanded.

Harry had immediately shifted into a defensive position on his broom, ready to fire a curse at a moment's notice.

"Oh, come now, little one. What are you going to do, curse me with that fish?"

Harry's eyes darted back and forth as the wand in his hand had apparently transformed into a small haddock.

"Who, or what, are you?"

"Why, the elemental spirit of Chaos, of course! Pleased to meet you, my general."

Harry said nothing, staring back, nonplussed.

"Of course, I go by other names as well. Shiggoth of the Spire? Aforgomon? Yog-Sothoth, Lurker at the Threshold? He who knows the gate, he who is the gate? The key and guardian of the gate? Ringing any bells at all? No?" The creature sighed dramatically. "You summon me from across the multiverse and this is the welcome I receive?"

Harry was again nonplussed. "Summon? Don't tell me that 'shuffle duffle muzzle muff' is actually a real incantation." At those words, the creature threw its hands up defensively and shrieked. Indignant, Harry asked, "Are you serious?"

"No, I'm Peter Pettigrew!" The creature waited for a reaction. "Nothing? Is this thing on?" It tapped on a microphone that was not in its hands a moment earlier. "Gee, tough crowd. No, I'm not being serious. That was just a ridiculous rhyme. Anyway, I suppose you can just call me Discord."

"Okay, Discord. What… what do you want?" Harry wasn't sure what he was supposed to say.

"The same as you, I'm sure."

Harry let out a humorless chuckle, "I highly doubt that."

"I'm here to help out a friend," Discord declared.

Rainbow Witch scoffed, and rolled her eyes. "Uh huh."

"Oh Dashie, you wound me to my core," Discord turned to her. "As it so happens, I heard of your little predicament. Your little bookworm friend got in above her head, now she's gone, and you're trying to find her and bring her back. I'm going to help."

"How?" Rainbow Witch and Harry both asked in unison, and then briefly glanced at each other, somewhat confused.

"Well, sadly, we creatures of god-like powers have certain silly little rules we have to abide by, especially when we're in other realms like this one. I cannot interfere directly. So don't go expecting any deus ex machinas at the end of your little story. In fact, I don't think I can interfere at all. Sorry, chum." He placed one of his paws on Harry's shoulders as if to illustrate, and it passed through him as if he, (or Harry) was little more than air.

Clarice spoke up, hands on her fists, "It doesn't sound like you're being honest with us, here."

"Et tu, Jackie? Well, I have to admit, I'm not acting _completely_ altruistically, there's something in it for me." Discord conceded.

"Uh huh, that's what I figured." Clarice replied, and they all stared at Discord expectantly. Discord put a single talon to his chin, stroking his goatee while leaning over and examining Harry intently.

"How much do you know about Heat Death?"

Harry was taken off-guard by the question. He suddenly was much more interested in what this "Discord" thing had to say. "More than most, but not as much as I'd like. Why?"

"You might say it's the opposite of chaos when you think about it, isn't it? Everything in perfect, pristine equilibrium? It all sounds terribly dull. Fortunately for me, the so-called laws of physics are just optional guidelines, and with a little hard work and elbow grease, I could probably get things moving again, but it would take a really, really, reaaaaaaallllllllly long time." Discord emphasized.

"You're saying you could single-handedly reverse the heat-death of the universe." Harry said, flatly. "How long are we talking here?"

"What's the biggest number you can think of?"

"Um, three to the power of… three to the third power of three, to the power of itself?"

Discord paused for a moment, apparently working out the math in his head. "Yes, that seems suitably absurdly high. Let's say that many years, give or take. Not that I mind the work, of course. I'm nothing, if not hard-working." At that, it was Clarice's turn to scoff, "Never mind her. No, what I'm not particularly looking forward to, as much as it pains me to admit it in front of them, is making new friends. I rather like the ones I have."

At that, Scaredy-Cat Apparated into his arm, and he mussed her hair with his knuckles. Judging by the perturbed look on her face, Harry did not think she Apparated herself willingly. Nonetheless, she gave Discord a weak smile. "Well, we like you, too."

"Speak for yourself…" Rainbow Witch muttered under her breath. Scaredy-Cat gave her a withering glare, and she begrudgingly conceded, "Yeah… We like him."

"This is crazy." Harry's checklist of things-to-do-using-the-newfound-science-of-magic included, near the very bottom, figuring out how to circumvent the inevitable accumulation of entropy, so it was at least nice to know he had a resource he could consult in that department. But there were a lot of steps between here and there. "So how DO you plan to help?"

"Oh, it's not going to be me that helps you. Really, these girls are going to do most of the hard work. I'm just going to kick things off, so to speak, like a Greek chorus delivering the Prologue. You see, as you may have guessed, we're not from here, and these girls will need a place to stay."

With a flourish, and a puff of smoke, a massive woman stood in place of where Discord had been not moments earlier. She was a handsome, olive-skinned older woman, wearing black satin dress robes. She was the tallest person he had ever seen, taller even than Hagrid, though not nearly as wide.

He… or she, rather, leaned down into a low bow. Even when her head was perfectly level with her torso, she was still taller than Harry. "Madame Olympe Maxime, charmed, I'm sure." Discord spoke in the voice of the woman, with an exaggerated French accent that bordered on comical. "I shall tell zee 'eadmaster, Dumbly-dorr, zat we are visiting students from Beauxbatons. I 'ave, of course, seen to it zat zee true 'eadmistress of Beauxbatons will be blissfully unaware of my impersonation,"

Pinky giggled and clapped her hands together. "You sound so cultured!"

"Now of course, zese 'orrible outfits of yours simply will not do." Discord snapped her fingers, and the witches were suddenly clad in identical periwinkle dresses, shawls and sleeves, and each had a matching hat sitting at a jaunty angle atop their heads. Fortunately, Harry could still tell them apart by their hair color, if not their mannerisms.

"And of course, names, we will need names. 'Oo would believe you to be students with those ridiculous names of yours? You!" Discord snapped her fingers at Rainbow Witch. "What shall we call you?"

"Uh… Manebow… Smash?"

Discord turned to the other witches in turn, snapping his fingers at each.

"Maudileena!" Pinky giggled, clapping her hands. "This is exciting! We're like spies!"

Clarice stammered when put on the spot, trying to think of a name that would sound normal, whatever that meant. "Babs?"

Scaredy-Cat looked down and kicked at the dirt lightly with her toe while she spoke in barely more than a whisper, "Jane?"

Discord considered this for a second. "'Orrible. Zey are all 'orrible names, except for yours, of course," she nodded at Scaredy-Cat. "Tisiphone, Megaera, Alecto," he pointed at Rainbow Witch, Clarice and Pinky, respectively. "Zat is what we shall call you."

"Tisiph-i-what?" Rainbow Witch cried, indignantly. "Those names aren't any better than ours."

"Oh, I think you will find them more than appropriate, my little 'umans. Now come. You, zee chosen one, 'op along on your little broom and fly to zee 'ospital."

"What about me? What's my name going to be?" The purple dog piped up.

"Ah, but you are used to being an afterthought, no? We shall simply call you Spike."

Spike wasn't sure if this was an insult or not, but didn't want to waste any time. He loped over to where Harry was floating on his broom, and Harry lowered himself enough so that Spike could hop into his arms, and then nuzzled up to the unconscious body slumped over the broom.

As Harry raised himself up, he paused for a moment. "I know that beggars can't be choosers… but you mentioned something about helping me bring back Hermione?"

"I said nussing of zee sort, 'Arry Potter."

Harry frowned. "You said you were going to help me find my 'bookworm friend'."

"Oh, silly boy. I was talking about zee uzzer bookworm friend, ZEIR bookworm friend." At that, Discord's voice changed back to its original rather than that of a French cartoon. "What a delightfully unlikely and totally not-intentional misunderstanding!" Discord tittered, and then resumed the French accent. "I only told you I would help you stop zee eternal night."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Right. Well, like I said, beggars can't be choosers. See you all back at the castle. It's that way," he pointed, and launched upward as Tisiphone stared longingly.

"So… awesome…" she whispered under her breath.

"'E is taking zis all in stride, don't you sink?" Discord asked, as he watched Harry fly away into the distance.

"Well, if he can help us find Twilight, then I don't really give two darn toots how he takes things," Clarice, now called Megaera, muttered.

"Yes, zat is the spirit! Now come, we have an 'eadmaster to meet!"


	2. Reflections

_CHORUS:_

 _Oh, I'm all alone now No love to shield me_

 _Trapped in a world That's a distorted reality_

 _Happiness you took from me_

 _And left me alone With only memories_

 _SHADOW:_

 _How lucky am I to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard?_

 _"Sunlight and Shadow", by S. Leigh, as staged in the 1981 Diagon Alley Production_

* * *

 _Sometime_

It had been days. It had been weeks. It had been years. The flow of time, without a fixed point of reference, had little meaning.

She had deduced a few things by this point. When she was alive, Harry had recommended that she read a book by an American professor entitled Gödel, Escher, Bach. It was long, it was obtuse, but it was a book, nonetheless. It took roughly four read-throughs before she was relatively confident that she had the majority of it memorized.

When she "read" the book now, it appeared precisely as her mind remembered it. There was no way of independently confirming whether the wording was exact, whether she misplaced a preposition here or there or swapped out one synonym for another. Her mind simply decided on a value, filled it in, and that was that. She mulled over a particular passage from page 3 of the preface:

 _The Gödelian strange loop that arises in formal systems in mathematics (i.e. collections of rules for churning out an endless series of mathematical truths solely by mechanical symbol-shunting without any regard to meanings or ideas hidden in the shapes being manipulated) is a loop that allows such a system to "perceive itself", to talk about itself, to become "self-aware", and in a sense it would not be going too far to say that by virtue of having such a loop, a formal system **acquires a soul.**_

She was quite certain of her original theory, that her mind was nothing more than a formal system, a collection of rules and data for churning out an endless series of output solely by symbol-shunting. Both her past and present consciousness was tangible face-value evidence that this formal system had looped upon itself and was capable of self-perception, talking about itself, becoming self-aware, and ipso facto, having a soul. That formal system being physically manifest gave her "soul" a means of interacting with other similar patterns, but it was not strictly necessary, just as how a blackboard was not strictly necessary for the Fibonacci sequence to exist i _n concept._

So she had deduced that she was an isolated strange loop, persisting on in a purely conceptual capacity, fated (or doomed) to continue persisting on forever. When she had come to that conclusion, she had despaired for a few brief moments, because it really did seem like quite a bleak future, not just for her, but for others as well, others who might not be able to entertain themselves as effectively as she could.

But she quickly came to another conclusion based on one simple observation: _she still remembered_. She remembered quite clearly the chain of events leading from her death until the present moment. The end result of her exile could not be mere oblivion, due to the simple fact that she was present, remembering, conscious after a fashion. If that were a possible end to this scenario, why would she be remembering _now_?

She was also quite certain that the end result of this was not eternity, either. Although it needed no outside input to function, per se, her mind as-is was a finite structure with a finite data set upon which could be operated with a fixed set of rules. If she persisted long enough, something had to give. Regardless of how efficiently she could write memories, at some point, there was a hard stop. As of the present moment, she had clearly not overwritten the memories of her own death, nor had she done so with her initial exploration of this conceptual afterlife.

At that moment, she decided that she never would. She committed herself to the following course of action: if that time ever came, if she continued to fall and reached that sudden stop, she would not overwrite these memories. She would not overwrite any memories. She would remember.

She produced an empty book with an arbitrarily large number of pages, and on the cover scrawled the title: "The Diary of Hermione Granger", and began writing down her thoughts as she could remember them.

 _"It had been days. It had been weeks. It has been years. The flow of time, without a fixed point of reference, has little meaning._

 _I have deduced a few things by this point. When I was alive, Harry recommended that I read a book by an American professor..._

 _..._

 _..._

 _..._

 _...and I began writing down my thoughts as I can remember them._

 _By committing myself so, my internment here has only two possible ends: escape, or oblivion._

 _And since I already know that it cannot end in oblivion, there is only one realistic possibility to consider._

 _I am going to escape._

 _And I have a pretty good idea of who is going to help me."_

* * *

 _May 13, 1992_

"Diffindo!" Harry had aimed at a branch this time, and it plummeted to the ground with a sound of twigs and leaves.

There didn't seem to be any tears inside him, only pressure with no outlet.

"I shall leave you to it," Professor Quirrell said quietly. The Defense Professor rose from his tree stump, the unicorn's blood still moonlit on the black cloak he wore and drew his hood back over his head. He began back to where he had left the unicorn in a state of near-death. It had not died in the drinking, Harry's interference had seen to that. Quirrell had torn a large chunk from its side, carefully choosing the location so as to present the best possibility of incapacitating the beast without killing it.

He reached the rotten log against which he had left the unicorn. Good news, bad news, good news. Good news: the unicorn was still alive. Bad news: the unicorn was no longer where he had left it. Good news: there was a telltale trail of blood smeared across the ground, leading twenty or thirty meters in the direction of the castle. Smiling, Quirrell followed the trail, and found the unicorn, laboriously dragging its broken body across the ground, trying in vain (but trying nonetheless) to escape.

"So nice to see you again, my little unicorn." Quirrell grinned wickedly. The unicorn stopped and turned up towards him, staring at him with dark black eyes run through with flecks of purple around the edges. Its mane was thoroughly disheveled, and for a moment it appeared that human blood was running down its scalp, but Quirrell realized that this was nothing more than its natural color: there was a shock of red hair through its tail and mane.

The unicorn watched him, expectantly, and tears began to well in its large, sorrowful eyes. Quirrell was quite sure that they were tears, as he was not one to project human emotion onto anything, much less a magically modified horse. It stood up, defiantly, on four shaking legs, and looked up into the air as Quirrell approached it. It closed its eyes, and without warning, the air around its horn began to shimmer, matter coalescing from the ether into a single dot.

Heart quickening. Wand out. Ready.

The dot expanded, like an ice crystal forming suddenly in water, and built itself into the form of a tiara of sorts. It was golden, studded with nine blue gemstones along its face. Atop the tiara was finely wrought gold wiring crafted into an ornate design, holding in place a large blood-red gemstone cut into the shape of a six-pointed star.

Quirrell had already built six varieties of shields, not only around himself, but around the unicorn in the event it tried to run, charge, or attack. He prepared the ground around the creature with an enchantment that would transform the dirt into a quagmire of living roots, ready to release his magic at a moment's notice to complete the spell.

The unicorn opened its mouth, and to Quirrell's surprise, it began to speak. " **You are here... The one who will tear apart the very stars in heaven. You are here... you are the end of the world.** " When it finished, its eyes began to fill with brilliant white light, so bright that it illuminated the clearing and beyond, casting harsh black shadows as the light hit the trees.

And just as quickly as it started, the light winked out and the unicorn dropped to the ground, the tiara clattering away near Quirrell's feet.

Quirrell's own rule nineteen stated that one should never simply sit and watch as an enemy begins to charge their ultimate attack, and so he acted accordingly. He would need to have a little conversation with this creature. Of course, it meant that he could not kill it, which meant he would need to find another unicorn upon which to feast, but that could be easily arranged.

He walked around the fallen tiara, making sure not to brush against it, as Rule twenty-two stated that one should never touch, wear, attempt to use, or otherwise meaningfully interact with an unknown magical object until its function has been identified with a reasonable degree of certainty. He approached the unconscious body of the unicorn and quickly Transfigured it into a small, violet pebble, and dropped it into his pocket, mentally adding it to the list of Transfigurations he was required to maintain.

He then turned his attention towards the tiara, thoroughly examining it without touching. It emanated a palpable magic power, and so he was hesitant to draw too close without casting the proper oracular charms. However, the writing on the inside of the tiara drew enough of his interest to merit a closer inspection. Given the non-zero chance that the object would react to magically-produced light, he decided that mundane fire would be a better tool for this particular task. He took a small stick from the ground and drew from his pockets two objects: a box of waterproof matches and a small tub of pitch. He stuck some of the pitch on the end of the stick, lit it with the match, and held it close to the tiara to read the writing.

 _ **Oon whit biyonde mesure is menn's gretest þresur.**_

Well, wasn't that just something?

He had known that the Sword of Gryffindor could present itself to a worthy Gryffindor in a moment of dire need, having witnessed that very phenomenon himself not a few short weeks ago. He also knew that Slytherin's Monster would obey the command of any worthy Slytherin if the circumstance arose, and was living proof of that fact. So it wasn't unreasonable to assume that the Diadem of Ravenclaw could also present itself to a worthy Ravenclaw given the proper situation.

Given the absence of other theories, he began to consider the implications of this one. If this were the Diadem of Ravenclaw presenting itself to a Ravenclaw, then this unicorn must be a Ravenclaw. Which obviously meant that this was not a unicorn, but an Animagus, which also explained how the creature could talk. Among available theories, the advantage is given to one that is both plausible and explains multiple mysteries at once.

He would soon find out what this creature knew of the prophecy, along with the circumstances enabling it to summon the Diadem of Ravenclaw, which had never in recorded history presented itself to a Ravenclaw (which was not altogether unsurprising, given the penchant for Ravenclaws for risk-aversion). He may have to delay his plans for a few days, but that was no matter. Information about the prophecy was of greater importance than any single aspect of his plan.

As long as Potter's friend remained dead, he would stay at Hogwarts until they physically removed him from the premises. The stone was going nowhere, and Quirrell was capable of mounting a distraction that would temporarily require the Headmaster's presence. Once the Headmaster was gone, Quirrell needed only to blackmail, threaten, or convince Potter to accompany him to the Mirror. Once the stone was retrieved, he simply needed to give the boy sufficient motivation and opportunity to make an attempt on Quirrell's life, his true life, in order to break the protections preventing Quirrell from killing the boy. Given that the boy was sentimental, reckless, and staggeringly naive, this would not be a particularly difficult task.

He briefly considered the fact that he felt the telltale signs of functional unicorn blood as he had consumed it earlier that night. If terminating an Animagus transformation counted as "dying" for the purpose of utilizing the life-extending properties of unicorn's blood, it could be a very useful fallback option in the event that his plans did not unfold in the manner of his choosing. He added that to his mental list of "things to try on a disposable minion", and spent a moment to examine the Diadem.

" _ **Ra eset**_ ", he whispered, casting a standard oracular charm that had a spectacularly low chance of negative interaction. The structure of the spells infusing the Diadem began to unfold themselves, revealing the general thrusts of its function. He poked and prodded at the abstract blobs of color that were laid out in front of him. Interesting, very interesting. It seemed to match the descriptions of lore: it isolated a certain mental quality within the wearer, and built upon it, expanding exponentially outward, using the wearer's own magic to power the expansion. So it couldn't work on Muggles, and it couldn't work on animals...

...or could it?

Credible legend had suggested that Salazar Slytherin had used the Crown of Serpents in order to grant snakes a measure of sapience in order to bestow the Parselmouth Curse upon himself and his descendants. It was not out of the question that the Diadem of Ravenclaw could grant a similar degree of intelligence to magical creatures, sufficient intelligence, for example, to allow a unicorn to talk. If that were the case, then this creature could be a true unicorn rather than an Animagus. It would certainly explain why he had felt the true effects of the consumption of unicorn blood, but it did not explain how the Diadem would have presented itself to the beast.

No matter. He would solve that riddle soon enough. Either way, he was completely confident that whatever the effects of the Diadem, they were not negative. Dark magic left traces, and this object was pristine. Gingerly, he took the Diadem and placed it upon his head.

Nothing.

It was entirely possible that the object could not be unlocked except by a Ravenclaw, or perhaps required the solving of a riddle of some kind. If the former, this could prove useful if he needed to enhance the Potter boy, although that would be a dangerous gambit and not one he would use unless as a last resort. If it did happen to be the latter, the problem did not need to be solved now. Besides, Potter was alone in the Forbidden Forest, and he could no longer hear the sounds of trees being torn apart. If the Professor knew the boy well enough, he probably had found himself in some kind of trouble by now and needed a deus ex machina to extricate him from his dilemma.

He placed the Diadem into his robes and set off in the direction of where he had left the boy.

* * *

 _June 4, 1992_

Once he had seen to the safety of Girl-Who-Used-To-Be-A-Unicorn-But-Now-Was-Unconscious-In-The-Hospital-Wing, for lack of a better name, was safe, the growing list of questions in his head had reached critical mass, and each new question forced old ones out of his mind. There were questions of mere curiosity, like where they came from and why they were here, and how they even got here. He had theories that he was seeking confirmation for, like thinking the Girl-Who-Used-To-Be... No, Purple Hair. Purple Hair it was. Like thinking Purple Hair was an Animagus, or perhaps a Metamorphmagus.

But mostly he was curious about Discord, and his claims of nigh-omnipotence. It wasn't often that a giant "Easy Button" plopped directly into one's lap, even in the magical world (considering that Magic was basically one big "Easy Button" unto itself). So far, Discord hadn't actually done anything that was outside the realm of possibility established by the existing magical rules with which Harry was familiar. He appeared out of nowhere, but that could be easily explained by Apparition. His initial form was that of a dragon-goat-snake-lizard-horse-whatever hybrid, and then he effortlessly transformed into a massive woman that he could only assume was half-giant or something. But that too could be relatively easily explained if he was a Metamorphmagus. He turned Harry's wand temporarily into a fish, had forcibly transported the pink-haired witch into his arms, and had transformed all of their clothes into new, matching uniforms.

Wordless, wandless transfiguration, non-self-Apparition and summoning? It was all _possible_ , but each observation required a separate, discrete, unlikely explanation. He had heard that house elves possessed such magic, but he had always assumed that their temperament was a bit less... dramatic and ostentatious. Even if the explanation was relatively mundane, it was still worth exploring what was possible. He would be kicking himself if he found out years from now that this creature could have just snapped his claws and resurrected the dead if only Harry had asked, but the window of opportunity had closed and now Hermione was gone forever.

He had asked around the castle for more information about where these five guests were residing for the time being. The response from the students was universally useless, with the boys giving him knowing winks and nudges, assuring him that they too were very interested in the answer to that question, before conversing among themselves as to which of the witches they wanted to "meet" first. And the girls rolled their eyes and gave chilly responses, inquiring pointedly why he seemed to care so much about those witches with the ridiculous hair, like having rainbow streaks or pink hair made them oh-so-cool or something because what was wrong with the girls here at Hogwarts?!

Useless. All of them.

The teachers were similarly worthless, giving him a reassuring smile and assuring him that he'd find out soon enough, but that he really, really didn't want to miss dinner tonight. It had occurred to Harry at that moment that he had been skipping dinner... and, well, lunch and sometimes breakfast several times a week recently. Now that he thought about it, he _was_ pretty hungry.

The secrets of the universe would have to wait until dinnertime, apparently.

As he found a spot in the Great Hall, he saw that the tables were uncharacteristically devoid of food. He noticed a few surprised glances from other students directed his way.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, I know. I'm hungry today," he remarked, to no one in particular.

He sat down and looked around the Great Hall as students filed in and sat down. The Defense Professor was absent, as expected, and Dumbledore was nowhere to be seen. Harry braced himself for whatever suitably dramatic entrance had been prepared. As if on cue, all the torches in the Great Hall extinguished and were replaced with flames of a brilliant blue roughly the same shade as the witches' new uniforms. The students collectively gasped and began chattering among themselves excitedly.

"Greetings, students, teachers, and newcomers alike," boomed the voice of the Headmaster, who had apparently entered and walked up to his podium in the din of excitement. "I have received word last night that we have a sextuplet of visitors from our sister school, Beauxbatons!"

Polite applause mixed with stifled giggles from some of the older Gryffindor boys. Dumbledore raised an eyebrow at them in a silent "Really?", and resumed.

"May I present to you, Headmistress of Beauxbatons, and the fine witches of Beauxbatons Academy of Magic!"

The door to the Great Hall opened, and Discord-Slash-Half-Giant-Headmistress walked imperiously down the aisle towards the podium, with the four witches in tow. Rainbow Witch and Pinky regarded the spectacle with excitement, whereas Clarice seemed quite skeptical. Scaredy-Cat, as expected, clung as close as possible to the false Headmistress and kept her eyes fixedly forward.

When they reached the front, Dumbledore extended his hand to Discord, who politely declined. She whispered to him in a sidebar, "I am sorry, Dumbly-dorr, but one of our students has contracted an 'orrible case of zee Draconequus Pox, so she shall not be joining us. I fear as 'zo I may have also come down with an 'int of zee illness myself, and I would 'ate to pass 'ziss terrible ailment on to you, 'eadmaster."

Dumbledore smiled politely, "I think you'll find it will take a bit more than an aggressive case of Dragon Pox to keep me from taking part in the festivities, but I agree that it would be best to avoid an epidemic," and lowered himself into a dramatic bow, to which she responded with an awkward curtsy. He turned and addressed the crowd.

"As is our custom, students who wish to stay in Hogwarts as more than guests must be Sorted according to Hogwarts' values, so that they will be allowed entrance into the various common rooms. And so, without further ado, would you do the honors, Professor McGonagall?"

She gave him a curt nod, and from behind the Professor's Table, she withdrew an old patchwork hat, which despite being an inanimate object, looked thoroughly displeased to be here. She walked out from behind the table and stood next to Dumbledore, who casually flicked his wand and produced a cushioned stool from thin air. Harry couldn't help but notice it looked decidedly more comfortable than the stool that he and his classmates had sat upon.

With a swift motion, McGonagall pulled a small length of parchment from her robes and cleared her throat.

"When I call your name, you will come forth, I shall place the Sorting Hat on your head, and you will be sorted into your houses. Tisiphone Erinys!"

No one moved. The four witches looked around awkwardly until Rainbow Witch caught sight of Madame Maxime giving her a withering death glare. "Oh! Yeah, that's me!" She bound quickly over to the stool, and sat down, unsure of what to do. McGonagall placed the hat upon her head, and the crowd in the hall went silent.

"Hmmmm..." The fold in the hat split open as it began to speak. "Hmm...difficult, very difficult. Plenty of courage I see, not a bad mind, either. There's talent, oh yes, and a thirst to prove yourself. But where to put you? You could be great, you know. It's all here in your head. And Slytherin will help you on your way to greatness! There's no doubt about that! No? Well...better be...GRYFFINDOR!"

Rainbow Witch shrugged as the Gryffindor table erupted into applause. Judging by some of the high fives going around, several of the Gryffindor boys were quite pleased. She sat down next to the Weasley twins, who both commented in unison: "Nice hair."

"Uh, yeah, you too! So, um, which one of you is the real one?"

Without missing a beat, they both replied in unison, "He is."

"You know, my friend had a similar problem. We put all of her into a room and Twi- I mean, one of my other friends did this test to see which one was real. I kinda got bored after the first ten minutes, but the whole thing worked. I think."

"If you believe Professor McGonagall, two of us is two too many," Fred remarked.

"And if you catch her on a bad day, she even says two of us is three too many." George deadpanned.

Rainbow Witch laughed a bit, "You guys are all right."

They were interrupted by Professor McGonagall loudly clearing her throat again, "Mr. Weasley and Mr. Weasley, you will have plenty of time to charm and subsequently disappoint this young witch over the next week, so I see no reason to further interrupt this ceremony. Megaera Erinys!"

Clarice hopped up and trotted up to the stool, and waited as the hat was placed upon her blonde hair. She looked up, expectantly as it spoke. "Hmmm... Another Apple, eh? I know just what to do with you! HUFFLEPUFF!"

She smiled, leapt down from the stool, and walked towards the cheering table of students in the black and yellow robes. As she passed by, the portly Professor Sprout leaned over to her and spoke, "We're the House of the honest, hard-working, and loyal, you know!" Clarice beamed at that.

"Sounds right up my alley!"

Harry found Professor Sprout's tone somewhat odd; it was almost perfunctory despite her beaming expression. He didn't have much time to think about it further, however, as Professor McGonagall wasted no time in announcing the next student's name, "Jane... Plein." She spoke the last name with the slightest hint of rising inflection, which by Professor McGonagall's standards was tantamount to dramatically rolling her eyes and declaring, "Seriously?"

Scaredy-Cat timidly approached the stool, looking around at the throngs of students eagerly eying her. McGonagall held the hat in her hands and began to place it down, but the moment the barest loose thread of the hat brushed against Scaredy-Cat's pale pink hair, it shouted at the top of its lungs: "SLYTHERIN!"

Scaredy-Cat clapped her hands together once, and in a small voice, no louder than a whisper, said, "Yay."

The entire Great Hall looked immensely skeptical, but perhaps none more so than Professor Snape and the whole of Slytherin House, who were tepidly applauding out of politeness rather than excitement. Draco caught Harry's eye from across the room, and Harry spread his arms in resignation and shrugged. Content, she walked over to an empty seat on the Slytherin table and sat down.

"And lastly... Alecto Erinys!" called Professor McGonagall, breaking the somewhat awkward silence. Pinky had her fists to her mouth, shaking with excited anticipation. When her name was called, she leapt out of her chair and squealed. She skipped up to the stool, plopped herself down, and immediately began asking the Hat questions.

"What do you think, Mr. Hat? I knew a Griffon once, but she was kind of a meanie. She didn't like pranks, not ONE BIT. I bet I would be good in Pufferstuff, I bet they like parties." She craned her head over to the Hufflepuff table and asked them directly, "Do you like parties? I LOVE parties!" The Hufflepuffs nodded and grinned, several of them laughing.

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat. "Ms. Erinys, I can assure you that the Hat will answer all of your questions. In silence."

Pinky gave her an exaggerated frown, and when the hat was placed on her head, she began thinking all of the questions that came to mind.

 _What's it like being a hat?_

 _Do you eat?_

 _Where does it go when you eat?_

 _Do you like to eat?_

 _Do you like to eat CAKE?_

 _I love cake._

 _Oh wait, that wasn't a question._

 _Neither was that._

 _OH NO THINK OF A QUESTION WHATS A HEFFALUMP?_

 _What house was that creepy boy in the forest sorted into?_

 _What does he know about Twilight?_

 _Do you think he likes to eat cake?_

 _I wonder who likes to eat unicorns._

 _I made a unicorn cake once._

 _OH NO THAT WASN'T A QUEST-_

Her inner voice was cut off by the Hat speaking in a slightly dazed voice. "Oh dear. This has never happened before."

Pinky's eyes went wide. "OOOooo. What?"

"Your voice..." the Sorting Hat managed weakly.

"What about it?"

"...has chased away all the sanity in me." As it continued, its voice rose in inflection, almost melodic.

Pinky touched the brim of the Hat as she looked upward at it. "That doesn't sound good."

The melody in the Hat's words became more pronounced. "These wounds won't seem to heal. This pain is just too real. There's just too much that Time cannot erase!" There was a brief pause, and then without warning, the old Hat's brim opened wide and it began crooning at the top of its non-existent lungs.

"WHEN YOU CRIED, I'D WIPE AWAY ALL OF YOUR TEARS!"

Pinky's eyes lit up. "OOOO! Are we singing now?" She clapped her hands together and began signing alongside the hat, albeit in a completely different rhythm and tune.

"Come on everybody, smile smile smile, fill my heart up with sunshine, sunshine!"

"WHEN YOU'D SCREAM, I'D FIGHT AWAY ALL OF YOUR FEARS!"

"All I really need's a smile, smile, smile!"

"I HELD YOUR HAND THROUGH ALL OF THESE YEARS!"

"For these happy friends of mine!"

"BUT YOU STILL HAVE ALL OF... Wait. No. Nope. NOPE. No more of this nonsense. RAVENCLAW!" The Hat shouted in terror.

The post-sorting Quietus charm had triggered, yet Pinky continued to sing silently, completely oblivious to this fact, her expression animated and joyful. The entire Hall was silent, looking at each other in bewildered disbelief. McGonagall was glaring, eyes narrowed, directly at Harry, who desperately and emphatically mouthed the words, "It wasn't me!" and was met with little more than a skeptical huff.

Dumbledore was smiling pleasantly, waving his wand like a conductor in time with the silent song that Pinky continued to belt out. Apparently, she was reaching the grand finale, because she stood up and threw her arms into the air and held a silent note for a solid five seconds before stopping, clapping her hands together and giggling manically. Dumbledore politely clapped for her, which the rest of the Great Hall mimicked, unsure of what else to do.

McGonagall briskly removed the hat from her head, and Pinky squealed, "Great job, Mr. Hat! We should do that again!"

Harry could have sworn he saw the hat desperately shake itself back and forth, as if to scream, "NO".


	3. I'll Be Your Mirror

_"Pooh, when I'm -you know - when I'm not doing Nothing, will you come up here sometimes?"_

 _"Just me?"_

 _"Yes, Pooh."_

 _"Will you be here too?"_

 _"Yes, Pooh, I will be really. I promise I will be, Pooh."_

 _"That's good," said Pooh._

 _"Pooh, promise you won't forget about me, ever. Not even when I'm a hundred."_

 _Pooh thought for a little._

 _"How old shall I be then?"_

 _"Ninety-nine."_

 _Pooh nodded._

 _"I promise," he said._

 _Still with his eyes on the world Christopher Robin put out a hand and felt for Pooh's Paw._

 _"Pooh," said Christopher Robin earnestly, "if I - if I'm not quite -" he stopped and tried again - "Pooh, whatever happens, you will understand, won't you?"_

 _"Understand what?"_

 _"Oh, nothing. He laughed and jumped to his feet. "How lucky am I to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard?"_

 _So they went off together. But wherever they go, and whatever happens to them on the way, in that enchanted place on the top of the Forest a little boy and his Bear will always be playing._

Hermione put down her book, "The House at Pooh Corner", by A.A. Milne. She was once again thankful for her almost-photographic memory, as it made it much easier to keep herself entertained. She had realized quite some time ago (although she was unsure if it was days, weeks, months or years) that the key to keeping herself sane was structure. She started her day off with building things. It was much easier than building something in real life; she simply thought it, and it _was_. The difficult part was the permanency. At the corners of her thoughts, she often saw flickers of grand structures, wisps of faces, hints of things she had seen before, but trying to hold onto them was like trying to grab smoke. It was only through conscious volition that she could commit the structures to memory, and with enough practice and detail, create something reproducible.

She used the metaphor of the physical act of creation to aid her in this process, like a complex mnemonic device. It forced her to focus on the reality of the objects she was working with, how they fit together with each other. Of course, she skipped over the mundane, because things just _worked_. When she had laid down the polished wooden flooring of her library earlier that day, the beams just fit into place and stayed there. She didn't need to concern herself with every single minute detail of construction, only the ones necessary to complete the abstraction. As she laid each beam in place, she forced herself to focus on that beam's spatial relationship with the rest of the room, committing it to memory as best as possible.

What had begun as a single featureless room had expanded into a house, which had grown into a palace. Many of the rooms were empty shells, placeholders with no permanency beyond the size and shape of their boundaries, and even then, those were mutable. She had initially dedicated a rather large section of the first floor to a grand ballroom, and it occurred to her shortly thereafter that she was not expecting guests anytime soon.

Once she was done with her building for the day, she would begin studying. Her subjects were unfortunately limited: the social sciences were purely worthless, and the physical sciences were of little use beyond purely theoretical applications. She was not accomplished enough of a physicist, chemist, or biologist to recreate reality with even the remotest degree of fidelity. So she mostly focused on maths and logic, two things that did not require the laws of physics as a prerequisite. She worked with the information she had learned from her studies in the non-Magical educational system, and although that wasn't best-in-the-world level by any stretch, she still counted herself as lucky. After all, she was handed on a silver platter mathematical equations, theories, principles and concepts that it had taken her forebears decades if not centuries or millennia to derive.

Even still, there was much that she was not taught and was forced to reverse engineer, a process that was at times painstaking. She remembered quite clearly the feeling of giddy excitement when she discovered that rate of change of the function "y=x^2" was equal to "2x", and that she could apply a similar transformation to find the areas of even higher-order exponentials. She was not, of course, arrogant enough to believe that she was alone in this discovery, especially given how quickly she was able to come to it. But she was also not well-studied enough to know that this was nothing more than basic Calculus 101.

When she tired of studying, she would then move to more creative pursuits. She found that she quite enjoyed painting. She painted places she knew, places she had read about, places she imagined. She was a master of light and shadow, of form and space, crafting photorealistic dreamscapes of otherworldly beauty. She conveyed the beauty and emotion of life through the rich violence of detail. Even in her abstract works, there was violence; her thoughts flung paint across the canvas of her mind in angry splotches, a silent rebellion against the chains that held her. She lovingly hung each work in its proper place in the gallery that she had constructed and often visited for inspiration.

Finally, at the end of her day, she would re-read her journal, write of the day's events, and then retire to her impossibly comfy chair to read a few chapters of whatever book had come to mind. She was not quite sure why she had chosen Winnie the Pooh, but chose it she had, and had finished the entire book before it was time to sleep.

Hermione dreamed, which in and of itself was not odd. One's mind, regardless of physical instantiation, could not keep going at a dead run forever. It needed time to catch up with itself, to process what it had experienced. The first time this occurred, she had not even noticed the encroachment of her subconscious; she simply found it increasingly difficult to force her volition upon the world. She became easily distracted by the sights and sounds that crawled out of the corners of her mind, watching in wonderment as they moved about seemingly with minds of their own.

The process of beginning to dream was much more seamless than when she was alive and constantly inundated by a stream of outside input. She simply stopped trying to consciously direct the action and instead observed what her subconscious had to offer. Oftentimes it provided inspiration for her conscious mind, synthesizing new ideas from unique permutations of existing concepts. Other times it unlocked doors that she had forgotten existed, doors she was able to then enter and explore. But most of the time, it was simply soothing mental white noise that relaxed her until she decided she was ready to begin her routine anew.

What was odd about today was that she was dreaming someone else's dream. She first noticed the peace. It was all wrong. She knew her own mind intimately. It was a constant vortex of activity, conscious or no. A swirling miasma of thoughts, a Pollock in conceptual form. But this was calm. Measured. Thick, bold lines, serene swaths of uniform color, pleasant to behold, but not at all a reflection of the life or reality she knew. It was childlike, innocent, serene. The voices that floated from in between the pools of color and sharp dividing lines were not echoing fugues, voices layered upon voices in endlessly rising canons. They were words, simple, pure words, and that was so quite unlike her.

The disorientation was so profound that she had difficulty following; she was not used to experiencing input in this fashion. She stared into a mirror, a golden, inviolate oval, observing the twisted reflection of her thoughts. As she searched for herself in the reflection, she saw dark, roiling shadows coalescing. Almost pure black, just like her own form, but with a subtle undercurrent of a deep twilight violet. She knew beyond any doubt that what was staring at her from within the mirror was not her own reflection. For the first time since she had arrived here, she was truly frightened, because whatever it was that stood within the mirror stared back at her, and spoke.

"Who... who are you?"

* * *

 _June 5, 1992_

Harry had been lurking outside the kitchens for quite some time, ignoring the suspicious glances of students and professors as they walked by. He was waiting for someone who could answer his question. He had tried asking a few professors where "Madame Maxime" had taken up residence but had received nothing more than blank shrugs. Hogwarts was a large place, with far more rooms and quarters than seemed strictly necessary for its current size. It wasn't until somewhere around lunchtime that the doors opened and a diminutive house elf wearing a faded pastel toga emerged from the door carrying a platter of steamed vegetables.

"Um, excuse me. Pardon me, sir? May I ask you a question?"

The house elf froze and stared at Harry, wide-eyed. It looked up at him, and Harry could see its eyes trace slowly upwards from his face to the top of his hairline. Harry braced for the inevitable, and the elf's wide bulbous eyes began to fill with tears.

"You wouldn't be... Harry Potter?" It asked in a high-pitched croak.

"Yes, I would. Would you mind answering a quick question I have?"

The elf began to blubber loudly. "'Sir'! The great and honorable Harry Potter has called Posey 'sir'! I have heard tales of your generosity and kindness but never before has Posey been called 'sir' by a wizard!" It fell to its knees, the platter clattering to the floor. At the noise, a handful of other house elves appeared and began to clean up the mess, regarding Harry with a mixture of curiosity and fear. The elf turned to one of its companions, "That is the wise and sage-like Harry Potter! And he... he called Posey 'sir'!" and promptly began wailing again.

One of the other house elves whispered to Harry, "But Master Potter, Posey is not a 'sir', she is a 'ma'am.'", and Harry quickly rectified his mistake.

"I'm sorry, ma'am. Posey, would you mind answering a question or two?"

Posey began sobbing with renewed gusto, barely managing words between the gasping wails. "The benevolence! The kindness! Never before in Posey's life could I imagine to be called 'Sir' or 'Ma'am'!" She ran forward and gave Harry a gangly hug, before noticing Harry's wide eyes. Worried that she may have been overstepping her bounds, she quickly separated herself, falling to her knees and kissing the hems of Harry's robes. "Sorry, Master Potter. A thousand apologies, please forgive Posey's familiar manner. I did not mean to offend such a noble and honorable wizard!"

"No, no, Posey, it's okay. Jeez, wizards must not treat you with very much respect..." He muttered. Fat tears again began to fall from her eyes as she shook her head weakly. "No, please, don't start crying again. Posey, I just had a few questions for you."

"Anything for you, King Potter, the One Who Lived And Shall Rule The Stars in Both Heaven And Earth!"

Harry felt that was a bit dramatic, but ignored it. "Do you happen to know where Madame Maxime, the visiting Headmistress of Beauxbatons is residing?"

Posey looked excited. "Yes, yes sir, I do. On the seventh floor corridor, do you know the place?"

Harry frowned. "Not well, but I can find it. Where on the seventh floor?"

"There is a portrait of Barnabas the Barmy, training trolls for the ballet. Across the hall from that portrait is the door, but..." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "Please make sure you are looking for Madame Maxime and nothing else!"

"Thank you, Posey. May I ask another question or two of you?"

"Of course, Kindly One."

"House elves... What kind of magic can you do? For example, can you transfigure yourself into a different form, make yourself look like something different?"

Posey considered the question, unsure how best to answer. "Not since before the days of Merlin could the fae perform glamours, sir."

"What do you mean?"

"When the wise, the powerful Merlin locked away the darkest secrets of Magic, he also locked away many of our powers as well. Not that Posey is complaining, sir. Posey rather likes how she looks."

Harry thought back to the Dungeons and Dragons manuals he used to read as a child. "These glamours... Could your ancestors turn themselves into anything they wanted?"

"Oh, no sir. We're elves, not wizards. We could change our appearance, but no more. We could not grow, nor shrink."

"Were your ancestors taller? Like, taller than me? As tall, as, say, Madame Maxime?"

"No, sir. As big as Posey, they were."

Hm, well there went that theory. "Okay, well, thank you very much, Posey. You've been very helpful."

Posey swept into a low bow, her nose almost touching the floor. "Yes, Master Potter. Anything for the One With The Power to Defeat the Dark Lord!" Posey's bow was interrupted by the steadily increasing stream of house elves flowing from the kitchen, one of whom had handed her a replacement tray for the one she had dropped. "Pardon me, sir, but Posey must be going now, it is lunchtime. But I would be glad to help you further, simply ask for me within the castle."

"Yes, I will. Thank you again."

Harry made his way across the castle up to the seventh floor, his mind distracted by other thoughts as he idly scanned the portraits until he found the one he sought. The wall across from it was empty, so Harry walked up and down the corridor again, peeking into doors and finding nothing but empty classrooms and supply closets. Frustrated by the inaccurate directions, he went back to the portrait to confirm he was looking at the right one. There really could be no mistaking it: eight trolls wearing garish pink tutus arranged around a single wizard, who looked terribly frightened. He furrowed his brow in concentration, remembering Posey's instructions.

They were fairly straightforward, and yet, here he was with nothing to show. He considered calling her again but was surprised as he turned around to see a door across from him that he must have overlooked during his first walkthrough. The door was cracked open slightly, and he could sound, from inside. He peered into the crack, and saw Discord in his original form, laying down on a rug in front of a fire. He was playing with a pair of dolls, having them dance with each other while humming and singing a little tune.

"Doo do dee doo, jumping on, the train that goes to the Kingdom, de do dum de do de do dum, be doo be doo imagination..."

Harry knocked tentatively upon the door, and Discord jumped up, tossing the dolls into the fire and feigning embarrassment. "Why, you snooping little so-and-so!"

"Hello, Discord."

"To what do I owe this dubious pleasure?"

"Well, we never really got a chance to talk after we first met. I had some questions for you. Well, a lot, actually."

Discord folded its mismatched arms behind its head and stretched back into a chair that did not seem to be there moments before. "I figured you might. What did you want to know, you curious little kitten? You know what they say about curiosity though..."

"For starters, what ARE you?"

Discord grinned. "You really swing for the fences, don't you? I'm the original General Chaos, the primordial embodiment of randomness. I was here before the beginning and I'll be here after the end. It's really quite lonely, you know. I have my brothers and sisters of course, but they're always busy. And of course, Destruction decided to go off and retire a few hundred years ago..."

Harry's initial reaction was disbelief, but he quickly checked himself. He didn't want to be one of those daft protagonists in a fish-out-of-water fantasy story that sees a thousand and one magical phenomena but then decides to be doggedly skeptical about one particular subset of observations, causing all sorts of contrived problems along the way. After all, was this really that much more unbelievable than the creation of pure mass-energy out of nothingness? Or the violation of every possible law of thermodynamics Harry could conceive of? "Okay, so we'll say your some kind of God. What kinds of powers do you have?"

"Here? Not much. See, look. Catch!" Discord detached one of his claws and tossed it at Harry without warning. Surprised, Harry held up his hands to receive it, but the claw passed right through him and clattered to the ground. "I can't really do a thing here. Your world is far too orderly for that, you've practically disproved my entire existence. In a decade or two, I bet I won't even be able to come here at all."

Harry considered this. "So you're one of those, 'the more you believe in me, the more power I have' type deities?"

"Oh no, nothing so simplistic. I'm more of a... hmm." Discord stroked his chin thoughtfully. "A shared hallucination, you might say."

"But you transformed my wand into a fish! And you changed those girls' clothes into those Beauxbatons uniforms!"

Discord held his hands together in mock innocence, and a glowing halo appeared above his head. "Me? I did nothing of the sort! You only _thought_ your wand was a fish. And they were wearing those uniforms all along."

Harry stared at him. "No, they weren't."

Discord chuckled. "Prove it!" Harry stammered, trying to come up with an explanation for the type of fallacy that Discord was currently engaging in, but Discord continued before Harry could reply. "Your minds are so delightfully malleable. It's like shooting wands in a barrel."

"So, I guess that answers my next question," Harry replied, disappointed. He waited for Discord to ask what the question was, but it never came.

After a brief beat of silence, Discord finally spoke. "Oh, you were waiting for me to play my role. One moment, please!" Discord twirled around, and when he completed the revolution, he was wearing an all-black outfit, comprised of pants, a turtleneck, and a beret. He was holding a human skull in his hand, and spoke to it, dramatically. "Alas, poor Yorick, I knew him well... Oh, wait, wrong play. Let me try again." He threw the skull aside and asked Harry with all the false earnestness he could muster. "Whatever could your question have been, o' disappointed one?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "I suppose you can't bring people back from wherever they go when they die, can you?"

"Of course I can!"

Silence.

Crackle.

Fizz.

Pop.

Harry's next words were measured, because although sometimes things were this easy, usually they weren't. "So, what's the catch?"

"Catch? Me? You act like I'm some kind of trickster God and I've just given you a magical monkey's paw that grants you wishes that will inevitably backfire despite following the exact wording of your wish! Although..." Discord pondered briefly and produced a desiccated paw out of nothingness. "That does sound like the sort of thing I would do. Here!" He tossed the paw to Harry, who didn't bother to try to catch it, and it passed through him. "Oh, yes, sorry. I forgot. Well, who would you like me to resurrect?"

"Yeah, it definitely sounds like there's a catch, here."

Discord folded his arms. "You were the one who asked! Besides, now you've got me excited. I want to show off my talents. I'm nothing if not an incorrigible showboat."

"Um, fine. How about, I don't know..." He thought of the first dead positive role model that came to mind. "Nelson Mandela?"

"Hm... Mandela... Mandela..." Discord produced a large book and oversized pencil and began leafing through the pages. "K... K... L... L... Madras... Madrigal... Manetti... Ah, here we are. Mandela, Nelson. South Africa. Died in prison a year or two ago, no?"

Harry nodded. "That's the one."

Discord flipped the pencil on its end, erased something from the book, and scribbled something in its place, and then showed the book to Harry.

 _Nelson Rolihlahla Mandela, born 18 July 1918, was a South African anti-apartheid revolutionary, political leader, and philanthropist, who-_

The next words were the ones that had been erased, and were replaced with sloppy handwriting that read:

 _-most certainly did not die in prison in 1990 and is still living a happy, healthy life."_

"See?" Discord spoke. "Not dead!"

Harry sighed. "Great. Really helpful."

"No, really. It says so right here in this encyclopedia." Discord shoved the book closer, and Harry looked at the top of the page: _Discordpedia, the free* encyclopedia._

"Let me see that." Harry reached for the book, but his hands passed through it. Despite this, the book turned its pages of its own accord to the section that Harry was going to try to find: an entry labelled "Potter, Harry James".

 _Harry James Potter (b. 31 July 1980) is a half-blood wizard, one of the most famous wizards of modern times. He is the only child and son of James and Lily Potter (née Evans), both members of the original Order of the Phoenix. He was raised by his Muggle aunt Petunia Dursley and her husband Vernon-_

As he read, a large obtrusive page suddenly unfolded itself over the contents of the entry, containing a black-and-white glamour shot of Discord looking pensive. Bold, blue font implored: _Please read: a personal appeal from Discordpedia founder, Discord._

"Hey! I was reading that!" Harry shouted, and reached for the book, but again, his hands could find no purchase. "Petunia Dursley? That's not her name-"

"You little peeping Tom, you! This is my private book! Besides, you have nothing to worry about, that's just some awful fan fiction written by some lonely woman on a train."

Dursley... Dursley... That name seemed so familiar.

Discord quickly shut the encyclopedia. "Anyway. I would try to bring back your friend Hermione Granger the same way, but I think you might not like the results. All sorts of time-space complications, you see. You and she would probably become friends with some dolt like Ronald Weasley who she'd end up marrying and having a whole brood of children with in order to escape the reality of her loveless marriage. Complicated stuff, messing with Time. I really hope I didn't break any continuity just now."

Discord reopened the encyclopedia and flipped through a few pages, scanning them carefully, and whispering to himself. "Q... R... S... Sandman... Sbarro's... Skip... 682." He paused, read the entry, and let out a relieved sigh. "Ah, phew." Satisfied, he tucked it back away from where it came. Meanwhile, Harry shuddered at the thought of "Hermione Jean Weasley".

"So, what are you here for, really?"

"I'm just here to watch the fireworks. I hear that you're supposed to have some climactic battle with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. It sounds titillating!"

Harry thought for a moment on how best to broach this subject. "Yeah, I kind of have my doubts about that. I have a pretty strong feeling that he's out of the picture. Besides, you can call him Voldemort."

Discord folded his hands together, thoughtfully. "You're right. I never liked 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named'. It's not a very credible threat, is it? Voldemort, Voldemort, Voldemort! See! Nothing wrong! You know, where I'm from, we have a _real_ 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named'. A really wicked character, he created this awful basilisk that went around gobbling people up a little while back."

Harry cocked his eyebrow. "...are you sure we're not talking about the same person? Did this 'really wicked character' hide this monster in a hidden room? Perhaps, a 'chamber of secrets'?"

Discord burst out laughing. "My goodness, no. No, no, no. This isn't some silly snake-cum-book-of-living-knowledge. This was a real, honest-to-goodness memetic hazard. Even _thinking_ about it would get you devoured. No one can say his name, otherwise, they'll get smitten from the face of the planet."

"Um, if that monster really works like you described, then that actually seems like a reasonable policy." But Harry paid attention to nagging note of confusion in the back of his mind. "But, then again, how are you thinking about it? I don't see you getting devoured."

"Because you silly goose. _I_ am that monster!"

Harry took a step back. "What?!"

Discord looked very serious for a brief moment and then began laughing again, oversized tears pouring out of his eyes. "You should have seen your face! Ohhhh! I slay myself. Hoooo." He slapped his knee in an exaggerated manner. "Sorry. Couldn't help it. But seriously now. Do you really think such a thing could exist? How would that even work?"

"I, uh, don't think that's a-"

Discord then quickly thought better of himself and held a finger up to Harry's lips. "Shhhh. Now that I think about it, it's better you don't even try."

"That's exactly what I was going to say."

Discord nodded. "Good. Now let's change the subject before your mind inevitably wanders back and you end up accidentally creating a multiverse-ending destructive force."

Harry focused fixedly ahead on the crackling fire, willing himself not to think on the subject. "Okay, so what are your friends doing here?"

"You see, my old friends and your new friends are in a very similar predicament to you. If you just used that big ol' rational brain of yours, you could probably figure it out." Discord waited a few moments, while Harry stared blankly. "No? Nothing? Gee, do I have to explain everything?" He spoke with exaggerated slowness. "Your friend. Eaten by a troll. Their friend. Eaten by a morally ambiguous wizard. You like your friend. They like their friend. Get the picture?"

"...so Professor Quirrell killed one of their friends."

"It would appear so, wouldn't it? And he seemed like such a good guy, didn't he? Boy, I bet you feel like an idiot!"

Harry was immediately defensive. "He didn't know, obviously. I mean, I didn't know when I fed the purple-haired girl poison sugar cubes."

"No, no, of course not. At least you tried. After all, tapping 1,2,3 on the ground, a fool-proof test to see if a creature is intelligent."

Harry threw his arms out. "Yeah, yeah! I know! I've already vowed to be more cautious in the future."

Discord was nodding emphatically, "Oh I quite believe you. I'm sure your monomaniacal quest to end Death forever will result in no further unintended consequences. I mean, what could possibly go wrong now that you've vowed to be more cautious in the future?"

As Discord spoke, paper clips began flying out of the fire and pelting Harry in the head. Harry tried swatting them away, but after a few moments, they began gushing out in a torrent of tiny metal bits. "Can you stop?"

Discord snapped his claws, and the paper clips melted into a puddle of grey goo, which slowly filled the room to an inch deep in sludge. Harry noticed the fireplace belching out streams of the sludge, causing the level of liquid in the room to rise progressively faster. Discord noticed as well, "Hm, you probably should leave before this little problem gets out of hand."

Harry, however, was not ready to leave. "But what was the plan? You don't just barge into another world and... wait, how did you even get here in the first place?"

Discord looked down at the rising goo, which now was halfway up Harry's calves. "You really should make up your mind as to what questions you're asking. We came here through a portal, same way anyone travels through worlds. Honestly, I would have thought that much was obvious."

Harry tried to focus on what information he needed in the immediate short-term. "Fine. The plan. What was your plan."

"That's a better question. They planned to reunite the Elements of Harmony and use its world-bending magic to... do something? I'm not really sure, myself. Probably cross their fingers and hope that somehow its magic would do precisely what they needed it to do at that very moment. My guess is that it would make their eyes go all glowy and then their friend and yours would emerge in a glowing pool of light or something like that."

Harry's attention was slightly diverted to the disturbingly warm, tingly feeling of the goop, which had now risen up to his knees. "The Elements of Harmony? One, I've never heard of those, but that doesn't say much since I'm new to all of this. Two, what do they do? Three, what do you mean, you're not really sure what their plan is?"

Discord chuckled. "One, two and three: it doesn't matter because those silly old things are the king of all MacGuffins. I highly doubt that they function, much less are capable of resurrection, in this world. It saddens me to say that they're on a fool's errand." Discord didn't look sad at all.

Harry was getting exasperated. "So they're just... here? That doesn't make any sense!" He was practically shouting.

"No, they're not 'just here'" Discord spat, mockingly. "They're following the prophecies."

"The WHAT?"

"If you wanted to know about them, you should have asked sooner, silly! Now I'm afraid we don't have nearly enough time to go into all that detail." Despite being twice Harry's height, Discord was almost chest deep in the liquid. He held a drenched claw up to his chin and twirled his goatee as he looked up into the air. "Although I suppose you don't need to ask ME... After all, anyone about whom a prophecy is made can freely listen to it. They're all on record at the Ministry of Magic."

Harry was standing on his tip-toes now to keep his neck out of the sludge and was moving back towards the door. "And, what if the prophecy isn't made about you?"

"Oh, why, you'd need to Words of Power and Madness to unlock them! Too bad they were lost-"

"Seven centuries ago."

"That's right. Right around the time that the Philosopher's Stone was made. Coincidental, isn't it?"

Harry didn't understand in the slightest what the connection between the two-

Oh wait.

Who was it that was friends with Nicholas Flamel, the creator of the Philosopher's Stone and was likely hiding the Philosopher's Stone here at Hogwarts?

Who was it that made a joke at Harry's expense about the "Words of Power and Madness"?

Who was it that behaved exceptionally oddly at times, taking actions that make little sense in context and yet somehow seem to be to his advantage?

"Dumbledore," Harry said.

Discord's eyes lit up with glee, but then he quickly drew his claws across his mouth, which turned into a large zipper, through which he mumbled, "I've said too much!"

The goo was now up to Harry's neck, and he found himself checking the hinges on the door to double check whether the door opened inwards or outward. He was relieved to see that it was the latter. He cast Discord an annoyed glare. "Can you please just make this go away?"

"Sorry, wish I could. I really wouldn't stick around to see what happens if the room fills up if I were you." Discord said as he waded casually through the muck.

"Wait, but you said before that you wanted to stop Death, too. Well, Heat Death, at least. How do you plan to do that?"

"Oh, I've got a few plans. None of which I can tell you, of course. But don't worry, you and I are on the same side." He playfully splashed Harry with the viscous liquid, which throbbed disturbingly on Harry's face. "At least I hope so! Now go on, before you get gobbled up."

Harry, who had already backed up against the door by this point, sighed and opened it, expecting a torrent of liquid to rush out. None did, instead it just sort of stayed in place, like a gelatinous blob. As he made his exit and closed the door, he heard Discord yell, "Toodle doo!"

When the door was closed, Harry looked down and saw that all traces of the goo had disappeared. He heaved an exasperated sigh and spoke into the empty hall.

"Posey?" Harry announced to no one in particular, hoping that this what was she had meant when she had instructed him to call for her anywhere within the castle.

After a few moments, Posey appeared with a dull POP nearby. "Yes, Master Potter?"

"Does Hogwarts keep any Muggle newspapers? I know I've seen archives of the Daily Prophet."

Posey grinned widely, glad to be able to provide a helpful answer. "Oh, yes sir. Yes, sir. Headmaster Dumbledore does so love his daily crossword. And 'waste not, want not' he always says. Never throws away an issue."

"Would you be able to get those for me? Or would I be able to get them for myself?"

"Do not trouble yourself, Grand and Glorious Savior! The newspapers are in the library, Posey would be honored to fetch them for you!"

"I would be infinitely grateful. Could you bring me them to the Ravenclaw common room? Just the front pages, though, I don't want you to have to carry the entire paper."

Posey looked momentarily crestfallen. "Sir... there are over 10,000 issues... You want... all of them?"

Harry blinked. "Oh. No, um... How about just from 19... Let's see." He did some quick recollection. "Let's say 1988 until today?"

Posey's eyes brightened and she nodded vigorously. "It would be an honor, sir!" And with that, she disappeared.

* * *

 _Later_

With the help of Roger Davies, an older Ravenclaw who seemed amused and intrigued by his search, Harry had arranged the newspapers along the walls of the Ravenclaw common rooms. They cast a mass shrinking charm, reducing them to about a quarter of their original size; large enough to still be legible, but small enough to where they could all fit on the three walls of the area that Harry had occupied. They hung in midair as Harry painstakingly reviewed the headlines of each, hoping for some snippet of information. He was frowning severely in concentration and was visibly annoyed when his concentration was broken by a high pitched voice.

"Cookie?"

He glanced over at the source of the voice; it was Pinky, or "Alecto" as she was called within the school. She thrust a large cookie roughly the size of a small child's head in his direction. "No thanks," he muttered, to which she shrugged and stuffed a portion of it into her mouth.

"Cake?" she asked, through chunks of cookie. She was now holding a square slice of elaborately decorated cake, which was of course, pink in color.

"I'm ok, thanks." This time, Harry didn't even look at her.

"Cupcake?" she asked again, waving a cupcake in front of him decorated in the same style as the cake that she was just holding not a moment earlier.

Harry's curiosity was briefly piqued, wondering where she kept producing these baked goods from, but it was quickly drowned out by annoyance. "I'm kind of busy right now."

"Ohhh." She leaned forward, staring at the newspapers. "You look sad and frowny. Why are you sad?"

He didn't respond.

"Is it because you ran out of cookies?"

"I'm not sad."

"Is it because you ran out of cakes?"

He shook his head.

"Is it because you ran out of cupcakes?"

"No!"

"Hm, is it because your friend got her legs chewed off by some horrible monster and now she's dead and you've transformed her body into something tiny like a ring or rock and are carrying it around with you and your only hope of saving her lies with a crazy and possibly dangerous person and you've got to rely on that crazy dangerous person to reach across the very abyss of oblivion to pluck her back from the great beyond and if that crazy person doesn't pull through then you'll just have to do it yourself because if magic doesn't make sense in every single other way then why can't it not make sense in a way that's convenient for this too?!" She was panting maniacally by this point, hunched over with heaving breaths, and yet she was still smiling widely as she looked up at him.

Harry stared at her, briefly silenced. "Why... What makes you say that?"

"Just a hunch." Pinky shrugged.

"No. No one's 'hunches' are that good. Why did you say that?"

Pinky looked up, thoughtfully. "You know, no one ever asks me that." She spent another moment in thought. "Well, Disco- I mean, um... Mrs. Maxim? When Mrs. Maxim said he was here because our friend got in over her head and needed help, you thought he was talking to you. And you said you were hunting the thing that was eating unicorns, and that thing probably ate my friend so I figured he probably ate your friend, too. And afterwards, you looked down at your foot a bunch of times and I thought, 'Hm, that seems like a strange place to keep looking', but then I realized that if someone was really, really hurt, you wouldn't want to just shove her in the ground or burn her up or whatever you people do here, you'd want to keep her safe, and I've already seen people transform things into smaller things here.

"Obviously you haven't figured out how to help her yourself, otherwise you wouldn't be walking around here looking like Mr. Frowny Man, which means you need help, but if it was just something anyone could help with you'd already be getting help, so that must mean you'd have to be crazy to think that what you're trying to do is even possible. Which makes sense because it sounds incredibly dangerous, you know? But you're not going to stop just because Mr. Crazy and Dangerous can't help you, are you?"

Although she spoke very quickly and was panting from speaking for such a long period of time without drawing a breath, Harry still followed her. Her chain of logic was riddled with questionable assumptions, and yet she had still gotten most of it right. "That was... impressive."

"Thanks!" She smiled, having caught her breath again. "So what are you doing? Wallpaper? I love wallpaper designs." She stared up at the wall of newspapers.

"No. You wouldn't by any chance know who Nelson Mandela is, would you?" Harry asked, not really expecting an affirmative answer.

"You mean the 73-year old deputy president of the African National Congress?" she asked, curiously.

"Wait, what? You have a Nelson Mandela where you're from?"

"No, silly! I read about him." She laughed.

"Where?"

She pointed at one of the newspapers, dated February 1, 1991. "Right there!" She began to read the article, "...plans for a march on Parliament by thousands of opponents of apartheid suffered a setback when Nelson Mandela, the Congress's deputy president, canceled a planned appearance and speech. Congress officials attributed the 72-year-old leader's withdrawal..."

Harry felt a cold wave of dread wash over him. He could have sworn that Nelson Mandela had died in prison. He remembered seeing the funeral march on television and hearing about a few riots that broke out in the days that followed. And yet, this was clearly not the case. Unless Discord has somehow tampered with the newspapers, which didn't seem consistent with the limitations he was bound by. Of course, he could have been lying about those limitations.

At that moment, another very pressing question popped into Harry's mind. "How did you find that article so quickly? You were only standing here for a minute or two, and I've been looking through these for the better part of an hour now. Did you seriously read them all that quickly?"

"No, of course not. I just looked at them."

"What do you mean, you 'just looked at them'?"

"I looked at them, and then filed them away in the big filing cabinet in my head. Then when you asked about Nelson Mandela, I went into the filing cabinet, looked for the 'N's, flipped through until I found the article, and there you go! Doesn't everyone have a big filing cabinet in their head?"

"Um, no." Harry thought that must have just made a lucky guess and was lying, and yet she seemed so earnest.

"That must make it hard to remember things. How do YOU do it?"

"Sometimes I use mnemonic devices, and I guess I've tried to make a memory palace before. It sounds like you've just done a really good job of it. But, if I'm being honest, I'm still not entirely convinced." He narrowed his eyes somewhat playfully. "Prove it."

She bounced up and squealed, "OOOO! A quiz! This will be fun!"

Pinky turned around, and when she had turned back, she was holding a large easel with a canvas mounted on it in one hand, and a blindfold and charcoal stick in the other. She wrapped the blindfold around her eyes and said, "Okay, don't move!"

Confused, Harry shrugged. "Okay."

Before he even finished speaking, Pinky's hand was darting across the canvas in a blur of motion. She initially spanned large swathes of canvas with back-and-forth strokes, and when she had finished covering the entire thing, her hand moved around in erratic patterns, varying the pressure and speed as she bit her lip thoughtfully. When all was said and done, the whole process took maybe thirty seconds, at which point she tore off the blindfold, considered the final work, and beamed.

"Ta-da!" She spun the easel around to face Harry.

Harry stared, open-mouthed, at the nearly photo-realistic drawing of him standing in front of a wall of newspapers. It was an almost perfect recreation of the scene, except for the fact that Harry was wearing a polka-dotted party hat, and there was a large table of various cakes, cupcakes, and cookies behind him.

"That... is really, really good. Like, unbelievably good. Like, I don't really even understand how you did that."

"Thanks!" she beamed.

"Okay, but now I have another question. Where do you GET all this stuff? Do you have a bag of holding, too?"

Pinky reached into her pocket and held out her hand. "You mean this?" In her outstretched palm was a small brown lump, no bigger than a ladybug.

"What is that?"

"It's my Party Bag! Top of the line!" She reached her other hand into it, at which point it expanded into a frumpy sack the size of her fist. Harry could make out sticking on the outside that read: Hammerspace Industries Bag 'o Fun, Model DWIM. "It's top of the line!"

Harry suddenly felt very jealous. "So, what all do you keep in there?"

"Oh, a little bit of everything. Baking supplies, baked goods, flour, sugar, powdered sugar, brown sugar, superfine sugar... Rubber chickens, whoopee cushions, fake noses..." As she spoke, she was pulling things out of the bag and tossing them on the floor. "Pens, pencils, snacks, tinsel, streamers, creepy latex skin masks modeled after people I've met, sausage links, a trumpet, a tuba-"

Harry picked up one of the masks off the ground that had clearly been modeled after Luna Lovegood. It was realistic enough that the effect was thoroughly disturbing, and Harry was uncomfortably reminded of the story of Yermy Wibble.

"Do you like it? Look!" Pinky had put on the Harry Potter-shaped skin mask and lowered her voice and spoke with an exaggerated accent. "Look at me! I'm Harry Potter! I'm always sad and frowny! Mmmrrrggg mrrrrggg mrrrggg," she stomped around a bit, mocking his slump-shouldered gait.

"It's... creepy. Do you have anything actually _useful_ in there?"

"Everything is useful at the right time!"

"Fine. But what about things that are... useful in the general sense, not just in ultra-specific edge cases? First-aid, maybe?"

"Oh, like doctor things?"

"Sure. Doctor things."

Pinky began pulling all manner of medical supplies from her bag, including a blood pressure cuff, a stethoscope, a roll of bandages, a crate of syringes that was clearly labelled 'Morphine', a set of scalpels, and several jars of various creams with generic names that Harry didn't recognize. The bag quickly grew to several times its size to accommodate a full-sized defibrillator, which Pinky struggled to set on the ground.

Harry was duly impressed. "That is, wow. What else do you have in there? Do you have things that you can use for protection?"

Pinky looked puzzled. "Protection? From what?"

"Well, my friend was eaten by a troll. And your friend was-"

"A TROLL? But they're so friendly where I come from. And people usually eat them, not the other way around..." She paused for a moment. "And they're so small. That must have taken a long time."

Harry's eyes grew hard, momentarily. "Well, where I come from, they're big. And not friendly."

"Usually things stop being mad when I give them cake. And if that doesn't work, I can always throw cake at them. Or distract them with cake. Or make them slip on cake. Come to think of it, I solve a lot of problems with cake. Cake is great, don't you think?"

"Trolls don't like cake."

Pinky looked disappointed. "Oh. Well, I guess in that case, maybe I would use one of these."

She began removed a pocketknife from her bag, and then noticing Harry's distinctly unimpressed expression, began removing several more weapons, starting with small knives in various shapes, progressing up to a couple of larger hunting knives and machetes. Students began to look up at the clattering noise of metal against metal as Pinky continued to toss more things onto the ground, including a rapier, a longsword, and an executioner's axe.

She paused for a moment. "But if close combat doesn't seem realistic, we could always go with... hm..." She pulled out a small handgun and held it up in front of Harry, whose eyes went wide as she tossed it onto the ground carelessly. She removed two additional pistols, along with a large chrome-plated pistol that was bigger than Harry's head, and threw them aside with careless disregard. She reached her arm deeper into the bag and removed a pair of assault rifles, one with a matte-black finish and the other with a wood-grain stock.

"But if we're looking for general destruction and mayhem, we might want to use some of these." As Pinky spoke, the other students began to slowly pack their things up from the common room and move towards the exits, not wanting to attract unwanted attention. Pinky removed a bandolier filled with hand grenades, a claymore mine, and with some effort, a rocket-propelled grenade launcher.

Harry started waving his hands and hissed at her in a whisper, "STOP! Put those away! You can't have those here!"

Pinky was thoroughly confused as she stared down at the small arsenal that had accumulated between them. "Sheesh. You were the one who asked!"

"Well. That is impressive, even by my standards. You've got my seal of preparedness-approval." Harry smiled, despite himself. There was a bit of silence between them as she packed the weapons back into her bag, and Harry thought for a moment. "So... I'm going to ask you a weird question."

"I love weird questions! Wait, let me try to guess the answer. Garmonbozia!"

"Uh, no. Let's say you didn't have your Hammerspace bag with you. Could you give me ten unaccustomed uses of objects in this room for combat?"

Pinky looked around. "Well, sure. You could break the legs off of the chairs and use them as clubs. Same with the tables. Or the candle-holders. In fact, you could pretty much use anything in the room as a club."

Harry nodded. "Okay, let's just count 'bludgeons' as one use."

"You could give someone a fatal paper cut with the pages of your books, or you could crumple the pages into a very tight, very pointy shape and stab someone. You could stab someone with the corners of a book too, or stab them with the broken leg of the chair that we were using as a club."

"Stabbing and slicing, check."

"I'm sure if you looked around hard enough, you could find something that was poisonous. In fact, I bet anything is bad for you if you eat enough of it. You could make someone drink enough ink to where they filled up and popped like a balloon. Or you could make them eat a rug, I bet that wouldn't feel very good. Oh! You could wrap them up in a rug and stuff them in a closet and never let them eat."

"Alright, we've covered suffocation and poison. Now let's say that it was just you, me, and an enemy in the room with no decorations or furniture. What then?"

Pinky twirled one of her fingers through the curls in her hair while she thought. "Well... if I wasn't worried about hurting you, I could do all sorts of things. I could cut your hair off and use it as a rope to strangle someone. Or use your clothes to strangle someone. Or use your limbs as a club. I bet your bones would make a good club, too. You could even sharpen them to make something stabby!"

Harry was staring off distantly at this point, and Pinky had noticed that he didn't seem to be paying attention. After a time, Harry looked back at her. "What's your real name?"

"Pinkamena Diane Pie! But my friends just call me Pinkie Pie. So you can call me Pinkie Pie, too! Or just Pinkie."

Harry smiled at the word 'friend'. "Okay, Pinkie. Can I ask you something else?"

"Sure thing!"

"Do people think you're... dark?"

"No, I don't think so. I smile too much for that. See?" She flashed him a beaming grin.

"How? How do you do it? You're obviously smart. Like, really smart. You may even be smarter than me, at least in terms of raw abilities. Maybe smarter than Hermione too. So how do you stop your mind from thinking about all the _bad things_?"

"That's easy, I just think about all the good things, instead."

"But those good things won't stay good forever. Things fall apart, they wear out, people grow old. Friends and family... they die." Harry was getting a little choked up.

"They don't have to. But you know that." Pinkie Pie put her hand on Harry's shoulder. "People get sad, sure. That's why I try to make them smile. Things can break, but you just fix them. If you're smart enough to think about how something might be bad, you have to be smart enough to think of how it might _not_ be bad. Know what I mean?"

Harry shook his head. "But some things can't be reversed. I don't mean that it's too hard or that we don't know how yet, I mean, fundamentally, the-laws-of-the-universe-say-so, can't be reversed. My friend is dead. Gone. Forever. And most likely, your friend is gone, too."

Pinkie shrugged. "Mmm, I don't think so."

Harry's voice was hot. "I _know_ so. I was there, holding Hermione in my arms when she died. I literally felt the life leave her."

"Dead means that someone is gone forever, right?"

Harry was nonplussed by this seeming non-sequitur. "Yes..."

Pinkie clapped her hands together. "There! So, what's the problem?"

"What?!"

"You don't _actually_ think she's gone forever. You're trying to find her. That means you think there's a possibility, and if there's a possibility then it means that you aren't 100% sure she's gone. And you won't stop until you're sure one way or the other. But if you're being really, really, truly, pinky-promise-with-yourself kind of honest, you think you're going to do it. You think you're going to bring her back."

"Yes. I do." Harry nodded, grimly.

"So you don't have to be sad! She's not gone forever, you're just playing hide and seek. She's hiding, and she's only gone until you find her again. Easy as that." As if to punctuate her point, Pinkie plopped into one of the nearby chairs.

Harry was still standing. "But no one else is playing the same game I'm playing. If I fail, that's it. It's done. She's done. Every moment I spend not trying to find her is a moment wasted. And what if at the end of it all, I'm thirty minutes away but I only have five minutes left and all I can think is, 'Why, why did I spend that twenty-five minutes in the common room with Pinkie Pie when I could have been researching!"

"Now you're just being silly. You don't have to do it on your own. You just need to find more people to play with!"

"Have you _met_ the people here? They're idiots. They don't want to 'play the game'. They're okay with people dying. They've convinced themselves it's _a good thing_."

Pinkie rolled her eyes at him. "That's because you're not very good at making friends." She then leaned over and said in a sidebar to no one in particular, "I can see why."

Harry leaned back, defensively. "That's not true! I've been trying to teach people ever since I got here. But most people don't want to listen, they don't want to change!"

"I didn't say anything about _teaching people_ , I said you weren't very good at making friends."

Harry held out his hands, exasperated. "What good are friends going to do me if they can't help?!"

Pinkie's eyes widened as she let out a dramatic gasp. "What good are friends? WHAT GOOD ARE FRIENDS?" She stood up, leaning over him and looking down into his eyes, jabbing a finger into his chest as she spoke in a soft, menacing tone. "I'll tell you what good friends are!"

The juxtaposition of her anger against her normally bubbly demeanor was disquieting. Harry took a step back, suddenly aware of the fact that she was a good head taller than him. Although she was apparently something of a genius, as she had demonstrated earlier, she was also clearly just a tiny bit unhinged.

 _Not unlike yourself..._ his inner Hufflepuff chimed in.

Pinkie continued, "Your friend is lost, and you're never going to rest or be completely happy until you find her again. Why? Because she's your friend, right?"

"Yes," Harry said quickly, but then decided to correct himself for fear of being dishonest. "Well, That's one of the reasons, at least. The main reason, I think. But there are other reasons."

Pinkie had ignored his addendum. "And she would do the same for you, right?"

Harry paused.

 _Would she, though?_ his Slytherin voice asked.

 _Yes_ , replied the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor in unison.

 _Hm... if she lived long enough, yes, I think she would,_ Ravenclaw replied after a few moments of thinking.

 _Fair enough, that's two and a half against one. Majority rules,_ Slytherin acquiesced.

"Yes, I think so."

Pinkie nodded and smiled, satisfied. When she spoke again, her voice had lost its hard edge. "You're my friend. Am I your friend?"

Harry was taken off-guard by the question and had to think again before he answered. He glanced at the small pile of bladed objects that still remained on the floor that had not yet been put away into her Bag of Holding +3. "Yeah. I'd call you a friend, now. Maybe not before we talked today. But it seems like you and I would get along."

At this, she clapped her hands together and squealed a bit. "If YOU were ever lost and couldn't find your way back, I would go looking for you and wouldn't be satisfied until I helped you find your way back. Because you're my friend! Would you do the same for me?"

Harry wasn't comfortable with the idea of outright lying to her, due in no small part to his worry at what kind of unstable reaction it might elicit. "I don't know. This hypothetical situation with has a lot of factors that you're just leaving out. How did you die, what kind of difficulties are involved, what are my own personal circumstances, things like that. I can't really answer the question honestly."

"Oh come onnnn. Are you really trying to tell me that if you magically unlocked the secret to making people not dead, and your friend was dead and you made her not dead anymore but you knew that I was dead, you would just _let me stay dead_?"

"Well... okay, obviously when you put it like that, no. I wouldn't. But I don't really see-"

Pinkie cut him off. "So there you go! Problem solved!"

"Yeah, I'm not really following you here."

"You're her friend, and you won't stop until you find her. If you were lost, I wouldn't stop until I found you. If I were lost, my friends wouldn't stop until they found me. If they were lost, their friends wouldn't stop until they found them. If their friends were lost, they wouldn't stop either."

She turned around, looking out at the window into the night sky. Her voice took on an air of wonder. "Where I'm from, we have people who look at the stars. And they say they the stars are far away. Really, really, really far away. And long ago, too. They say that some of the stars we see, they're from as far back as the beginning of time. I think that's pretty neat, don't you?"

She turned back to him. He nodded and smiled at their unexpected common interest, and she continued. "There's a lot of darkness between us and them. But even if there was only one star in the entire universe, even if it were impossibly far away, we'd still see its light.

"You might not believe it, but my friends and I have fought a lot of enemies where we come from. And we'll probably have to fight a lot more. You too, I bet... Everyone does, I think. But really, the last enemy to be destroyed is-"

"Death." Harry finished her sentence for her. Memories flooded into him, and with them came tears that formed at the corners of his eyes.

"That's what I was going to say!" She smiled at him. "It doesn't have to be you. And it doesn't have to be now, or today, or tomorrow, or this year or next year or the next thousand years. All it takes is one star shining in the darkness to cast the entire universe in light, from now until the end of time.

"So you see, it doesn't matter if _you_ fail, even if you're the only one working to fix things right now. It's not just _you_ who would have to fail. It's your friends. And their friends. And their friends. And all of their friends, too, now, and going on into forever. _Life itself_ would have to fail. _Friendship_ would have to fail. And... I just don't think that's going to happen. Do you?"

Harry stared at her through watery eyes, noting that she seemed serenely oblivious to the effects her words were having on him. Without really knowing what compelled him to do so, he wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug and whispered,

"No. No, I don't."

* * *

 _Godric's Hollow_

Alone in a graveyard, a tall stone worn as though from a thousand years of age, upon it a line within a circle within a triangle, glowed brightly silver, clearly visible beneath the clear night sky to anyone who cared enough to look.


	4. The One Where Twilight Sparkle Dies

_Earlier_

"Who... who are you?"

Hermione thought for quite some time before saying, "No, who are YOU?"

She then immediately kicked herself mentally for not having a more sage-like and cryptic reply.

 _Great. Just great_ , Hermione thought.

Since she had arrived here, Hermione had the lingering fear in the back of her mind that the isolation would drive her insane. At times, she had thought about Neville's parents, and how the mentally broken shells of people were now _who they were_. If they were to die and find themselves in the same afterlife situation as herself, that was it for them. Same, really, for anyone with mental illness. What do you do if what's left of someone isn't anything worth recovering?

After a great deal of thought, she concluded that it wasn't a hopeless situation for them. Although Hermione had never consumed alcohol, she had certainly read enough to understand its effects and had witnessed firsthand a handful of nights when her parents were more giggly than usual after a few glasses of wine at a dinner.

She also remembered quite clearly hiding in her room during one of those nights, listening against the door while her parents argued loudly in their room. She was five, maybe six, and heard her mother's frustrated voice explain something about it being that time and that they needed to try to get it done tonight, that's what the doctor had said. Father yelled that at least his problem wasn't permanent, and mother began crying and shouting back at him, and Hermione cried, too, without really knowing why.

The next morning, Hermione's mother prepared breakfast as if nothing was wrong, and her father had that look in his face that very clearly communicated: I messed up. They didn't speak for the better part of the day. But later that night, they kissed and made up, quite literally, causing Hermione to again hide in her room, this time giggling instead of crying.

Alcohol clearly changed someone's mental state, but it didn't permanently change their sense of self. Her father was still her father, inebriated or no. And more importantly, he recovered: the next day, he was himself again. She imagined the experience could be similar for the Longbottoms. They would wake up after a decades-long, or perhaps centuries-long state of mental intoxication, shake off the cobwebs, mourn the years that they had lost, and continue on with their lives, good as new.

That hope was, of course, predicated on the assumption that the damage that had been done to them could be fixed. But Hermione was not too concerned with such details. As long as you could conceptualize how the damage was done, you could, in turn, conceptualize how the damage could be fixed. She was well aware that things didn't always work that way in the "real world", but this place operated by a different set of rules entirely. In reality, reassembling the pieces of a broken mirror wouldn't fix it. There were physical and chemical bonds that had been broken, their energy released into the surrounding system, impossible to recover. But here? The only bonds here were ones of abstraction.

Not to say that Hermione found the idea of losing her sanity acceptable, even temporarily, so she needed to figure out exactly why she was talking to herself. This wasn't the first time that one of her phantoms had spoken to her. But it was the first time it had done so with any degree of permanency. Typically she would hear a whisper, look in the direction of its source, and it would fade as quickly as it surfaced. But, these shadows from behind the mirror, they did not fade, and they spoke with a clarity that told her this was no phantom.

She had gone crazy, and she had invented an imaginary friend.

The shadows twisted a bit and spoke. "No... I know what you're trying to do. You aren't going to trick me."

Hermione paused before speaking, nonplussed. "You- what?"

"I've been imprisoned before, you're not going to stop me."

"I... no? What... I shouldn't be justifying myself to you. You're a figment of my imagination."

The shadows convulsed, an action that clearly conveyed _laughter_. "Nice try. Who are you? Discord? Tirek? The Pony of Shadows? Midnight Sparkle?"

Yep. She had gone crazy. "This is insane. I don't know who you are, or why you're here. Well, no, I know who you are. This is the world of my imagination, and you're just another part of that. You're an imaginary friend."

The shadows had now drifted out from behind the mirror and writhed around Hermione's own form. After a long beat of silence, they spoke again. "No, I'm pretty sure that I'm real."

"Well, of course you're going to say that. You wouldn't be a very convincing imaginary friend if you just came right out and told me you were make-believe." The edgeless mist of her form contracted in embarrassment. "Oh gosh. This is because I was reading Winnie the Pooh, isn't it? You're my Pooh bear, aren't you?"

"I'm sorry, I don't know what that means. But, you know, I kind of believe you. You don't sound like a villain."

"Is that supposed to be comforting?"

The shadows warbled, floating back and forth, and took on a slightly manic tone. "I don't know. I don't know. I was trying to help, I read the prophecies, I know something terrible is going to happen. But then that creature appeared and... No, no, no! This is bad. I need to get out of here. We need to get out of here. Don't you understand?"

Hermione had no answer for this.

After a moment, the shadows seemed to calm down a bit. "But you're wrong about me and what you think is happening here."

Hermione sighed, "Okay, fine. What do _you_ think is happening here?"

"I'm not really sure. One of the last things I really remember was being attacked by some horrible monster-"

Hermione cut her off. "Yes, you are definitely a figment of my imagination."

"Why do you keep saying that?"

"I was also attacked by a horrible monster. And then I died, too. That's not just coincidence. And now I'm here, and this entire place is my imagination, personified. Or a dream, you might say," as Hermione spoke, the stranger's form warbled thoughtfully. Hermione continued, "I've been here for, well, I don't really know how long. But obviously, I've gotten lonely, lonely to the point that I created someone or something to talk to."

"You know, where I'm from, there's somepony who has the power to enter dreams, to communicate with the one who is dreaming. So maybe we're both right?"

Of course, this mysterious figure would have a reasonable sounding explanation, a self-consistent back-story. But Hermione wasn't ready to give herself over to the madness. She needed to understand, so she decided to play along for a bit. "Alright, and these people who are visited, do they remember the dreams when they wake up?"

"Not always, but most of the time, yes."

"And how do they know they were actually visited by this person and didn't just dream about it?"

"If it were just a dream, how could both of them remember? She's visited me several times in my dreams, and we've discussed those visits when I'm awake. She's kind of like my therapist," the shadow tittered, making an odd giggle.

"Are you sure that whoever this was, they're not just playing a trick? Perhaps you told her what you dreamed about and she just played along, only rephrasing back to you things that you had already told her?"

The shadows looked around at her surroundings. "I can see why you might think that, but no, I'm sure. There have definitely been things that I didn't say anything about that she knew of. And I'm not the only one."

"How is that supposed to help? It's not as though I can just wake up, find you, whoever and wherever you are, and then ask, 'Oh hi, tell me about the dream you had last night, I want to compare notes!' "

"I didn't say it would help, I just said maybe that's what's going on."

Hermione was getting a little bit frustrated. "Speculation doesn't really mean anything though. I could suggest all sorts of theories but without a way to verify them, any of them could be true. All of them could be true, none of them could be true!"

"You know, it's not really fair that you get to be the only one who's skeptical. I have just as much of a right to accuse you of being imaginary."

"Then why don't you?"

"Hmm." The shadows paused thoughtfully. "You don't talk like me, for one. And you don't seem to think like me. If I had been stuck here for ages, I think I'd be handling it a bit differently from you. But... I think I understand why you think that way. I just got here, so I don't have any reason to think that the people or things I meet are imaginary... So how do I prove to you that I'm real?"

Hermione shrugged. "I don't know. I've never had to think about this before. It's not like there's a book in the library called, 'How to Prove the Existence of an Imaginary Friend When You Have No External Reality to Compare Against.'"

"No, I don't think so either. But I've read a lot of books. Give me a moment to think about whether any of them might say anything useful about this..."

Hermione gestured to the library which instantiated behind her, "Yes, I've read a lot of books, too."

The shadowy form billowed and coiled as it wafted its way through the doors to the library, pausing and orienting itself in such a way as to appear to be looking around. The shadow briefly glowed pink, causing a book to lift off the shelf and the pages to turn themselves quickly.

"This one's blank."

Hermione nodded with her own shadowy form. "Yes, there are a lot of books like that. I think that they're books that I _THINK_ exist but don't. But then, there are books that I have read, that I remember by heart. Those books have words; I can read them in their entirety. But what's strange is that a lot of these are books that I know for a fact that I haven't read. But they still have words. Like this one."

She gestured to a book with a pair of yellow eyes overlooking a dark blue cityscape, labelled "The Great Gastby", and began to read:

 _"In my younger and more vulnerable years, my father gave to me a bit of advice that I had been turning over in my head ever since. Whenever you feel like criticizing someone, just remember that they probably haven't had the advantages you've had. He didn't say anymore, but we've always been usually communicative in a reserved kind of way. But this has opened me up to be the victim of a number of veteran bores. Anyway, this girl, Daisy, she is my cousin. And there is a rich man who lives next door, his name is Gatsby. His manner is like boats borne ceaselessly against the wind."_

"It goes on like that. I remember the opening paragraph from grade school and know the overall plot points, but I never actually read it. I know it's not the real thing. But I don't actually have any real way of proving that's not how the _real_ Great Gatsby goes. If it is, well, the writing style is atrocious..."

The shadow said nothing in response, and Hermione continued nervously. "It's funny, I'm really good at remembering things and recreating things, but I'm just terrible at creating _new_ things." She gestured to her gallery of artwork, which flickered into existence around them. All of the pieces were either purely abstract displays of emotion committed to canvas or nearly photorealistic renderings of places that Hermione had visited. "I'm also pretty awful at drawing people. See, look. I've never shown anyone these before."

She gestured to a collection of sketches that could charitably be called "amateurish". Someone with less concern for the feelings of the artist might have called them "garbage".

"They're... interesting?" The shadow offered. "Is that supposed to be her nose?"

If Hermione had a physical form with cheeks, they would have turned red. "No! It's hair."

"Oh. Yes. Hair, I see it now."

"You don't have to lie. I know they're bad."

The shadow flickered around the edges and let out a noise that sounded like a giggle. "Well, I have a friend who tells me that honesty is always the best policy, even if sometimes the truth can hurt. So... yeah. They're bad."

Hermione smiled to herself and then sighed. "So, what now?"

"Well, I can think of one book that I read a long time ago that talks about a lot of weird stuff like this. _Girdle, Equus, Buck_. It's really long, but the author is very well-respected: Douglas Hooftrotter."

"Seriously?"

The shadow paused. "Yes... Why?"

Hermione instantiated a copy of Gödel, Escher, Bach. "I've read that book, too. It's awfully coincidental; I've only met one other person who has read that book. And he's part of the reason why I'm here." Hermione quickly corrected herself, "He didn't put me here, that's not what I meant. But I don't think I'd have the right... state of mind to create this place if we hadn't met."

"I read a lot of books, so maybe it's not that coincidental. Books are kind of... my thing."

Hermione smiled. Yes, that would make sense. "They are kind of my thing, too."

She tried to think of how Harry would react to a situation like this. How do you verify something when you don't have anything to verify it against? Math and logic, the two subjects she had spent most of her time studying, didn't require physicality. So that seemed like a good place as any to start, especially because she wasn't particularly good at computation. She had a gift for memory, and so given sufficient time, it was fairly trivial to perform even the most complex calculations. But nonetheless, she was not particularly fast.

"How good are you at math?" She asked the shadow.

"I don't want to be immodest, but... really good?"

Hermione thought for a moment. "Okay then, what is the square root of 546?"

"23.36664289109."

Hermione spent several minutes verifying the answer. As far as she could tell, it was accurate. That wasn't proof, though. This could just be latent mathematical ability manifesting itself. Something about only using 10% of your brain at any given time (even though she was pretty sure that wasn't really accurate).

She was getting frustrated again. Any answer that she could verify, she could by definition calculate. In their discussions about how to pass encrypted messages back and forth, Harry had explained to her the concept of problems that are difficult to calculate but easy to verify. Things like figuring out which prime numbers multiply together to make a larger number. But, if this was just some part of her brain locked away, it wouldn't actually prove anything.

The shadow interrupted her thoughts. "Let's try something different. I'm thinking of a number between one and ten."

"What's that going to prove?"

"Just play along."

"Okay. Seven."

"Nope."

"Three."

"Nuh-uh."

"Two."

"Nope!"

"Nine."

"Yes!"

"Okay, but what did that tell us?"

"Let's play again. I'm thinking of another number this time, but it's not between 1 and 10."

"What's it between, then?"

"I'm not going to tell you."

"What?"

"There are a lot of numbers. An unlimited amount, really. But it's one of them, I promise."

"If you picked a long enough number, it could be years, even centuries before I guessed it. I supposed that's your point though, right? Wait, what is your point?"

"The number I'm thinking of is a something that I know but you don't. And you'll never know because I won't ever tell you."

"I... That doesn't... There's so much wrong with that. You could just be saying that, and not actually have a number you're thinking of.

"If you hit someone and they tell you it hurts, how do you know for sure they're actually feeling pain?"

Hermione thought about this for a bit. "I suppose I don't know for _certain_. But it's a reasonable assumption."

The shadowy voice had taken on a playful tone, "And why is that?"

"If the roles were reversed and I was the one being hit, I would feel pain. So I would expect someone else would feel pain, as well."

"So don't you think if the roles were reversed and you were the one saying you were thinking of a number, that it was actually _you_ thinking of a number and that you weren't just the figment of someone else's imagination?"

Hermione found herself nodding. "Yes, I suppose you are right..." She continued, half to herself. "If I can't distinguish you from a conscious, independent person, then I have to treat you like you are one. Alright then, tell me a little bit more about yourself. What are you? What's your name? Where are you from?"

The shadows seemed to concentrate for a moment and then began to coalesce into a solid form. Thin traces of line began to slash the outline of three circles, and various lines began emerging from the circles in different places, eventually forming the outline of what seemed to be a horse? No, it had wings and a horn. A winged unicorn? Was there even a name for that? She was certain there was, but she couldn't quite remember. As she tried to recall, she watched as thick, bolder lines and swaths of color began to fill in the details, looking like something out of a comic or a cartoon.

The creature spread her wings triumphantly: a pale violet winged unicorn with darker violet hair styled in bangs with a shock of red running down the front. Her large, oversized eyes sparkled. "Ah, that's much better. This is who I am. An alicorn."

So _that_ was the word for it. "You're very pretty. For a unicorn, I mean. Er, an Alicorn."

She giggled. "And what about you, what are you? What do you look like?"

Hermione was nervous. She had a vision in her head of what she looked like, sort of, but she had deliberately avoided creating mirrors in this place because it never looked quite right. Nonetheless, she gave it her best try. Mimicking the process she witnessed moments before, she visualized drawing a picture of herself. It went much, much slower as she painstakingly tried to reconstruct every detail.

As she watched herself, she knew it didn't look right. Her eyes were slightly too far apart, giving her a dopey, vacant look. Her hair didn't seem to fall naturally but rather looked like it was propped up by far too much hair product. Her nose wasn't really in the right spot, either.

"This... this doesn't really look like me."

The alicorn cocked her head and raised an eyebrow. "You look... Um... No, you look fine. But, is your mouth supposed to do that?"

Hermione noticed that when she had spoken, her mouth didn't actually move naturally, but rather, the drawing of herself split horizontally where her mouth was, and the top half of her head bobbed up and down in time with the words. The effect reminded her of the Monty Python cartoons her father used to watch.

Hermione blushed, and her form dissolved back into shadow. "No, that's not right at all. I don't know how to do what you just did. Is that what you actually look like?"

She nodded. "Yeah, pretty much."

Hermione thought for a moment. Her mind didn't work fast enough to process something as complex as human motion in real time, but maybe something more simplistic, more cartoon-like, something where artistic shortcuts were sufficient to convey emotion... "Let me try something."

She transformed herself into a duplicate of the alicorn standing across from her, and then began making changes. She started with her body, giving herself a pale golden color, and then moved onto the hair, replacing the dark purple bangs with chestnut brown curls. She changed her eye color from a dark indigo to a sparkling cinnamon brown and spread her wings in a similar pose.

"How's that?"

The stranger grinned. "Much better! You're a natural. But, you probably want a different cutie mark..."

"A what?"

She gestured to the pink star with the white sparkles around it that adorned her flank. "Your cutie mark. It's a reflection of who you are, your passion, your calling. For me, it represents the magic of Friendship."

Hermione's new form nodded. "That's easy." With a poof, the pink star on her flank disappeared and was replaced with a stylized drawing of an open book.

The stranger clapped her hooves together. "I love it!" She extended her hooves out and brought Hermione into a hug. "I'm Twilight Sparkle, the Princess of Friendship. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Hermione once again felt suddenly self-conscious. "Hermione" was such a mundane name, compared to "Twilight Sparkle".

"My name is Hermione Granger. Nice to meet you as well."

"That's a pretty name."

Hermione smiled. "Thanks. I'm from a place called Earth. We have magic here, but not many people know about it... Since you're an Alicorn, I'm assuming you have magic where you're from?"

Twilight Sparkle nodded. "We do. And I know all about Earth. Where I'm from is a land called Equestria. I think you're probably familiar with it, but, from the books I've read, you might know it better as 'Atlantis'."

* * *

 _Earlier_

Harry waited patiently outside the Headmaster's study underneath his Invisibility Cloak until he was certain that no one else was entering or leaving the study. After a few moments, he heard the distinct sound of music playing. He pressed his ear up to the door.

 _Was that… David Bowie?_

Harry opened the door a crack, and saw Dumbledore with his back to the door, staring out the window. Abruptly, the music stopped, and Dumbledore turned around.

"Ah, music. A magic beyond all we do here." He wiped his eyes, and then looked pointedly at the empty space behind the slightly ajar door. "Don't you think so, Harry?" He put extra emphasis on the final word.

When Harry didn't reply, Dumbledore continued to speak, pleasantly. "'Heroes' will always have a special place in my heart, but I must say… I'm quite partial to 'Magic Dance', as well. The words seem quite appropriate, especially given the circumstances. I would sing it for you, but I daresay you have probably had enough of people launching into impromptu, yet surprisingly well-orchestrated musical numbers as of late."

Harry ignored Dumbledore's pleasantries, removing the Cloak and walking into the office without invitation. "We need to talk, Headmaster."

Dumbledore nodded. "It would seem we do."

"I'll bypass the formalities and cut straight to the chase. I know that there are prophecies about me. I also know that Professor Trelawney in specific made a prophecy about me at the beginning of the school year. I know that there are more prophecies about me, and I know that you know them. I also know that the prophecies are recorded in the Department of Mysteries, available only to those about whom the prophecies are made. In the interest of saving me an unnecessary trip to London, I would ask that you tell me all that you know of these prophecies. I hope that you know me well enough to know that if you do not tell me, I will most certainly find out for myself."

Dumbledore sighed, heavily. "I feared this day with come. I will not bother asking you the source of this information, although I have my suspicions. And if those suspicions are correct, you would not betray the confidence of the one who provided you with this information."

Harry didn't bother correcting him, and Dumbledore continued. "You are correct, Harry. You are the crux of a thousand prophecies made throughout the ages, and I know each and every one of them. During the First Wizarding War, there came a time when I realised that Voldemort was winning, that he would soon hold all within his hand. In that extremity, I went into the Department of Mysteries and I invoked a password which had never been spoken in the history of the Line of Merlin Unbroken, did a thing forbidden and yet not utterly forbidden."

He turned around and faced Harry directly. "I listened to every prophecy that had ever been recorded. And so I learned that my troubles were far worse than Voldemort. From certain seers and diviners have come an increasing chorus of foretellings that this world is doomed to destruction. And you, Harry James Potter-Evans-Verres, are one of those foretold to destroy it. By rights, I should have ended your line of possibility, stopped you from ever being born, as I did my best to end all the other possibilities I discovered on that day of terrible awakening."

Harry blinked.

"But I did not. I did, however, ensure that this knowledge would be forever lost upon my death-"

"You WHAT? Why?" Harry shouted in involuntary anger.

"Do NOT interrupt me, child," Dumbledore shouted, matching Harry's fury. "I will tell you, when or if we agree upon terms. I have laid in place considerable security measures upon the Hall of Prophecy. And although I am quite confident that you are more than capable of defeating those security measures, given your track record..." Dumbledore paused, allowing an uncomfortable moment of silence before continuing. "As the holder of the Line of Merlin, I am alerted to any incursion into those sacred halls."

Dumbledore strode forward and kneeled down to face Harry. "Listen to me well. If I detect that you, or a proxy of yours, attempts to access the Hall of Prophecy, I will end my life and as such, ensure the destruction of all the prophecies within. This much, I promise you, and I do not make such promises lightly."

Harry opened his mouth to speak but could find no words except one: "...Why?"

"The prophecies, naturally, are unclear, but they are quite clear about two things. One is that this world is fated to destruction; that much is certain. Yet in your case, Harry, and in your case alone, the prophecies of your apocalypse have loopholes, though those loopholes be ever so slight. Always 'he will end the world', not 'he will end life'. You and you alone are the path that will protect Life itself from this cataclysm."

This was almost too much, even by Harry's standards. "And what is the second thing?"

"You must not read of the prophecies. You must not! Your foreknowledge would prevent the confluence of circumstances necessary to bring about salvation."

"But how? That doesn't really even make sense. Self-fulfilling prophecies are just an easily averted plot device for anyone with more than the slightest degree of self-awareness."

Dumbledore shook his head, sadly. "It's more than that, Harry. There is a paradox, a problem of sorts, that is often discussed among both Muggles and Wizards alike. At no small cost to myself, I constructed a device to illustrate this paradox."

With a slight wave of his hand, two boxes, roughly a foot tall each, floated towards them from the shelf on one of the Headmaster's cabinets. One of the boxes was clear, being made of delicate glass. The other was crafted from carved wood, and as such, opaque. Inside the glass box, Harry could see it contained a single gold Galleon.

The fury seemed to have left Dumbledore's voice as he playfully explained. "We are about to play a game, Mr. Potter, and here are the rules. The glass box, as you can see, contains a single Galleon. The wooden box either contains one-hundred Galleons or none. The rules are simple: you may either choose to keep the contents of the wooden box, or you can keep the contents of both boxes.

"The only caveat is that the wooden box, much like the Sorting Hat, has a certain degree of highly specialized intelligence. Specifically, when someone is playing the game, the box is very, very good at predicting which box the player will choose. Before the game begins, the box chooses whether to fill itself with one-hundred Galleons or not. If it predicts that the player will choose the wooden box only, then it will fill with one-hundred Galleons. If it predicts, on the other hand, that the player will choose both, it will fill itself with nothing."

Dumbledore slid the two boxes over to Harry. "Choose wisely, Harry, for you only get one chance to play this game."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "When you say it's 'very, very good', how good are you talking, here?"

"In the seventy or so years that I've played this game, I have never once seen it be wrong."

"Does this work like Comed-Tea, then?"

"No, no. Temporal order still restrains causation and the causal graphs have to be acyclic. There are no causal arrows going backwards in time. Nor is there a Time-Turner or any other manipulation of the timeline. It is simply very, very good at predicting the behavior of people playing this game."

Harry pondered for a moment. "I'm going to put aside questions of how exactly this box is so accurate, and play the game as it was intended to be played. At first glance, I would say that it doesn't matter which I choose because the contents of the box are already pre-decided before I make the decision. So whatever decision I do end up making can fundamentally have no impact on the contents of the box. So, really it's just a question of how much credence do I put in your claim that the box will accurately predict my actions.

"If you frame the question a different way, you could say that by default, the one hundred Galleons is mine. And the question is, do I want to wager ninety-nine Galleons in order to win a single Galleon, on the notion that I can outsmart your little box? The benefit of gaining a single Galleon pales in comparison to the loss of ninety-nine, and so as such, I pick the wooden box."

Dumbledore smiled and opened the box. Within it glittered a large pile of Galleons, as promised.

Before Harry had a chance to comment on the outcome, Dumbledore spoke again. "I am now giving you the rare chance to play this game again, although you may say that it's not quite the same game. Pretend that instead of one Galleon and one-hundred Galleons being at stake, the glass box contains one half of an ancient device necessary to fully resurrect your departed friend, Miss Granger. The wooden box either contains the second half or nothing at all. The device is worthless without both halves together.

"Now, which boxes do you choose?"

Harry's gut felt like it had taken a fist. He glared angrily up at Dumbledore, "That was a bit of a cheap shot."

Dumbledore nodded, gravely. "The true stakes are much, much higher than one single life, young Harry. Now, make your choice."

"I would pick both. I would have to. My only hope would be that the box is wrong, that it somehow thinks I would only pick the wooden box, and that I could then somehow trick it."

"And that is your choice?"

"There is no other."

Dumbledore removed the covering from the wooden box, showing that it was empty inside. "Then you would lose."

He flipped the single Galleon from the glass box to Harry, who caught it smartly. "It is interesting, Harry, that you say there is no other choice. I think you will find, if you think hard enough, that there was, in fact, another option."

Dumbledore looked at him. Harry looked back, deep in thought. Neither spoke.

Three minutes past in silence, but finally, Harry began to speak, tentatively at first. "You said... the box was very, very good at predicting _what the player of the game_ would choose."

Dumbledore nodded. "A strange game, is it not?"

"A strange game, indeed. The only winning move… Is not to play. "

Dumbledore smiled, sadly. "You are correct. It is only by virtue of being ignorant of the rules, of being outside the scope of knowledge of the box, that you could ever hope to claim the full contents of both boxes. And so it is with fate. You must guide us through the eye of the needle, ignorant of what fortune has in store for you. After all, the fault, dear Harry, is not with our stars,

And so it is with fate. And you must guide us through the eye of the needle, ignorant of what fortune has in store for you. After all, the fault, dear Harry, it's not with our stars, but in ourselves, that we are underlings."

Harry let out a long sigh. The noises of the machines in Dumbledore's office punctuated the silence.

 _Boom. Clap. Thump-bump. Thump-bump. Thump-bump. Beat. Beat. Beat._

After a time, Dumbledore offered, "There is, however, a prophecy of which I can speak to you about. A prophecy which does not concern you, at least not directly. Would you like to hear it? I would understand and respect your wishes were the answer 'No.'"

Without hesitation, Harry replied. "Yes."

Dumbledore cleared his throat. " _On the longest day of the thousandth year, The star is it will aid in her escape, and she will bring about nighttime eternal._ "

Harry looked upwards, trying to calculate a few dates in his head. "I'm going to take a wild guess and say this prophecy was made in, say, the year 992."

Dumbledore nodded. "Your guess would be correct. If I were to tell you that this prophecy likely refers to none other than Miss Granger, what would you make of it?"

Harry stared, distantly, and spoke with an almost mechanical, hollow tone. "Night, by definition, is the lack of sunlight. And the sun is a star. And if someone were to, say, 'tear apart the very stars in heaven', it stands to reason that would help bring about eternal night."

"And yet, those same stars will aid in her escape?"

"It is my understanding that there are typically levels upon levels of meaning in prophecy. Not that I've studied real prophecies, but I've read enough books, and to be honest, this whole system of magic seems like it was taken straight from the pages of a fantasy novel. 'The stars' could mean almost anything, in that context. Draco, for example, named after a constellation… Perhaps he will assist me."

Harry also thought of another, a person intimately familiar with the stars and their wanderings, but he did not speak his name aloud.

"I think, Harry, that the fate of your friend, and in a manner of speaking, the fate of the stars themselves, depend on those same stars aiding in your friend's escape. This very well could be the most important thing that you do in your life, perhaps ever. Certainly more so than defeating Lord Voldemort."

"If it's so important, why didn't you tell me sooner?" Harry couldn't help himself from the feeling the hot, wetness that began to sting his eyes.

Dumbledore responded, quietly. "I did not think you needed further motivation to rescue your friend... Am I wrong?"

Harry closed his eyes and tried to wipe them. "No. No, you're not."

After a time, Harry spoke again. "Headmaster?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"There is one more thing I wanted to ask you about." Harry decided to tell a partial lie, "I looked at the books Hermione checked out of the library, and she was researching the Philosopher's Stone just before she was killed. Her notes said that something dangerous might happen if the Stone stays inside 'the mirror' too long. I'm assuming she's referring to the magic mirror in your 'forbidden' corridor, the one that it seems nearly every Gryffindor and half of the rest of the school has visited. But... the Stone?"

Dumbledore let out a dry chuckle. "I suspect you have your own thoughts about the Stone, do you not?

"I read of it in a book, yes. And I concluded it was an obvious myth. There's no reason why the same device would provide immortality and endless gold. Not unless someone was just inventing happy stories. Not to mention, every sane person should have been researching ways to make more Stones, or kidnapping its maker to produce them," Harry paused a moment before continuing. "It is... what I would do, I think if there were need enough."

Dumbledore smiled at him. "Most wizards simply accept the powers of the Stone at face value and pay it no further thought. This does not make them insane: those who have grown up with Magic learn from a very young age that there are many fantastic powers and lore that are forever outside their reach. And that many, if not most of these powers carry with them a terrible price. There are other means of prolonging one's life, perhaps indefinitely." Dumbledore gave Harry a piercing glance, but out of courtesy made sure to direct his gaze fixedly at Harry's forehead rather than his eyes. "A means by which, I suspect you have read about, despite all my precautions."

Harry nodded. "The Horcrux ritual."

"Yes. I trust that you perceive its limitations, beyond its abhorrent requirements, and so we shall speak no further of the specifics of that particular magic. Magicks such as that are not uncommon knowledge, and yet despite the potential rewards, they are rarely ever seen in practice. To most Wizards, the Philosopher's Stone is merely another double-edged sword of power, carrying with it an assumed price they are likely unwilling to pay. As such, have little reason to consider it further."

Harry considered this. "That makes sense, although there are ways to experimentally verify these sorts of things if there are concerns..."

"The tale of Atlantis is told to Wizards from a very young age and told often. They are, with good cause, raised to respect the boundaries of power. It is rare to find a Wizard who does not know of someone who has been killed or seriously hurt by tampering with Magics outside of their ability. And yet, despite this, many Wizards who fancy themselves as clever, have come to the same conclusion as you. That the Stone is a myth, an elaborate wish-fulfillment fantasy, and as such, they too have little reason to further pursue the stone."

Dumbledore stood, and paced back and forth in front of the window, his back to Harry.

After several long moments of silence punctuated by ticks, whirrs, fizzles, and pops from the various devices in the Headmaster's office, he turned back to Harry and again spoke.

"Only a handful of truly clever wizards have grasped the real truth, a truth I will only tell you because I genuinely believe you would not use the Stone for your own benefit, but rather for others. And I also truly believe that you will listen to reason." He sat back down and folded his fingers together. "Eternal life and youth, the creation of gold and silver. Suppose these are true benefits of holding the Stone. Tell me then, Harry Potter. What is the Stone's true power?"

Harry's mind switched gears. Working backwards from a solution was a few orders of magnitude simpler than the reverse process. Knowing that there was an answer and that the evidence wasn't a lie, Harry was able to quickly come to a conclusion: "It can make Transfigurations permanent." Then Harry stopped, as he heard what his own mouth had just said.

"Correct," said Dumbledore. "Thus, whoever holds the Philosopher's Stone is able to perform human Transfiguration."

The blood in Harry's veins began to run hot. "And could also Transfigure food... shelter... water... medicine..."

"This is also true."

Harry couldn't help himself. He slammed his fist on the table, causing the various devices near him to jump up in the air. "Do you understand what you're saying? Nicholas Flamel has more blood on his hands than a thousand Voldemorts, for all the people he could have saved and didn't! You... that blood is on your hands, too! He obviously trusts you, values your counsel. You could have said something. You still CAN say something!"

Dumbledore did not react to the outburst. "Tell me, then, if you were in my position, and had full command of the Stone, what would you do?"

The words tumbled out of Harry's mouth in a torrent, "A high-security hospital. With very powerful guards, that have taken Unbreakable Vows, It doesn't matter how much gold it takes to pay for the Vows, you simply transfigure as much as is needed. And, and Alastor Moody would design the security architecture, and go completely overboard on paranoia without being constrained by a budget or sanity or common sense. There can't be more than, what, a million wizards in the world? So assuming Wizards die at roughly the same rate as Muggles, that can't be more than 10 or 20 people a day."

Dumbledore smiled at him, which annoyed Harry greatly. "Ah, Harry, I never thought we would be in this position, of you being the hopeless optimist and me being the pessimistic realist."

Harry stared at him, a hard edge in his voice. "Explain, please."

"I assume you would not just want to heal Wizards, correct? After all, there are goblins, centaurs, mer-people, house-elves..."

"Yes, all sentient creatures. Even if they outnumber Wizards by five to one, that's still trivially easy to accommodate."

Dumbledore nodded and sprung the trap. "And Muggles, too? I believe _they_ outnumber wizards by 10,000 to 1..."

Oh.

In the silence, Dumbledore continued. "Given your plan, it would not be a matter of 'if', but 'when' the Muggle population became aware. Consider the number of Muggle-born or half-blood wizards and witches. Would you condemn them to watch their loved ones wither and die while they enjoyed the benefits of eternal life? And yet, to make an exception would be tantamount to exposure. Muggles see little, but even they would not be able to ignore this."

"You... you could relocate them. When they're old, just make it look like they had a heart attack, and then move them to a hidden community of others like them."

"Would that satisfy you, were you in that position? If you had grown up as a Muggle and had a wizard for a son, would you be content with living out an eternal life with only those other Muggles that were lucky enough to have loved ones who were Wizards? What of your friends? What of your adoptive parents? What of their friends, and their family? Even if you personally would find that satisfactory, do you truly think that everyone would feel the same way? That no one would, perhaps, attempt to escape and spread the knowledge further?"

Harry stammered and fiddled with the edge of his robes. "I... Okay, I see your point. So, let's say it does get out. It would take some time before it does, which would buy us time to hammer out the logistics. There are seven billion people in the world, and we'd need to see them all once over the course of, say, seventy years. So that's a hundred million people a year or about three hundred thousand a day, ten thousand an hour... So somewhere between 2 to 4 people a second. That doesn't even seem like an intractable problem on paper. If you lined everyone up on a massive conveyor belt... It would only have to move along and a few miles per hour. Sure, it's logistically complicated but it doesn't even seem outside the realm of possibility of Muggle technology so WHY AREN'T WE DOING IT RIGHT NOW?"

"Ah, yes, I thought we might hit this little snag."

Harry heaved a deep, annoyed sigh. "What."

"The Stone has certain limitations that cannot be bypassed. It can only render permanent three hundred and sixty transfigurations per day."

The words were like a punch in the gut. "Three hundred and sixty..."

"It is not, and could not ever be enough to sustain the entire world. Perhaps, maybe when the world was young, perhaps in the time of Atlantis, from where I suspect the Stone came, it may have been sufficient. But the world has grown too large."

Harry desperately tried to think of a solution or a workaround, but was drawing blanks. Dumbledore was scrutinizing his expression and again spoke. "Tell me now, knowing of this limitation, what do you think would truly happen were you to enact your grand plan?"

"I... well..."

"I have spent a great deal of time in my youth thinking on this very same problem. It may surprise you, but you are not the only wizard with a remarkable intellect and grand designs of saving the world. I too, once thought that I could do something similar... for the greater good."

That phrase carried with it a strange ring of familiarity that Harry wasn't quite able to place.

Dumbledore continued, "Here is what I think would happen. A precocious, but brilliant wizard, with the best on intentions, would begin allowing limited use of the Stone for healing purposes. The official explanation would be that the near-miraculous feats of healing magic were due to a combination of Muggle technology and magical innovation. But over time, whispers would escape beyond the walls, slip past the bonds of Unbreakable Vows, and make their way to the ears of the tired, the poor, the huddled masses yearning to breathe free, free from the ever-present touch of Death. Despite issuing denial upon denial, the full truth would come out: that the source of this newfound Fountain of Youth was no feat of innovation or technology, but rather yet another example of eldritch, hoarded lore.

People would begin to petition those who controlled the Stone, not for the touch of eternal life, but the touch of permanence. The true innovators of the world, rather than seeking to push the bounds of what all men are capable of, would instead seek to push the bounds of what is possible using the Stone. They would devise ever cleverer devices and machinations that could not otherwise be brought into creation and then seek to have those creations rendered permanent. The growth of the world would be stunted. Why bother making advances in the realm of healing, or medicine, or technology, when all it would take is the simple touch of the Stone to make your wildest dreams come true?

Instead of putting their ingenuity towards the task of creation and innovation, men and women around the world would instead turn it to the task of how best to curry favor with those who control the Stone. Permanence would become the new currency of the elite, and entire economies would be built around this scarcity. When the need inexorably outstrips the capacity of the Stone, it is inevitable that some will turn to violence. At the point, the political legerdemain that had previously governed the usage of the Stone will become irrelevant, and the world will instead plunge into war for control of the Stone. Those who control it would be forced to use its power towards defense, rather than creation. And eventually, they will learn the bloody truth that all those who participate in protracted war must learn at some point: a war cannot be won defensively.

The Stone will then be used to fuel machinations of destruction the likes of which I could not possibly fathom. I do not put such creations outside of your singularly creative imagination, Harry, but I think you will find that there are dark corners of your mind that you dare not explore for fear of learning what you are truly capable of. Those darkest moments will be brought to life with crystalline clarity. It is entirely possible that in a desperate effort to prevent the Stone from falling into the wrong hands, someone would tear apart the very stars in heaven, destroying both the world _and_ its people."

Dumbledore let the gravity of that last phrase weigh on Harry's mind for a moment before continuing.

"The Stone cannot be replaced. Its limitations cannot be circumvented. Perhaps one day, I will live long enough to tell you the tale in its entirety... but long ago, when I was barely a handful of years older than yourself, I was in league with Gellert Grindelwald. Yes, him. We sought to rebuild this broken, hateful world into something that both mankind and Wizard-kind would be proud of. We knew that we could do not do this alone, and so we sought artifacts of great lore and power to aid us in our quest. The Deathly Hallows, of which I have already spoken to you, were one of those artifacts. The Elements of Harmony were another; the abstract representations of the different aspects of magic: Mind, Life, Time, Space, Power and Love.

We were able to find but one, the Element of Power, known to many as the Philosopher's Stone. It does not simply _represent_ Transfiguration, it _is_ Transfiguration. This is a gross oversimplification, but one could say that within its capacious buffer exists every Transfiguration currently being maintained across the whole of Wizardkind and beyond. We were able to trace its origins across the aeons of history... At some point in the fourteenth century, it was claimed from the renowned Dark Lady, Baba Yaga, by none other than Perenelle Flamel, who you may recognize as Nicholas. You can see, how, with the power of the Stone, it would be trivially easy to maintain the ruse of both Perenelle and Nicholas. Baba Yaga was not, of course, the original owner; she herself was granted control by the legendary sorcerer, Scott Parajsa.

"Gellert and I paid Mr. Parajsa a visit in Santiago, Chile, many, many years back. It is something that I still feel great guilt over, for although I did not harm him myself, I stood idly by as Gellert did what he needed to do... What we needed to do." Dumbledore paused, looking out the window. "By attributing her power to the 'Philosopher's Stone', which had a published (albeit entirely false) alchemical recipe, Perenelle Flamel had made it appear as though she had earned the right to live forever by completing a great magic that any could attempt. And she was giving others a false path to pursue, instead of seeking the one true Stone as Perenelle had sought Baba Yaga's, and as we sought hers.

"Once we found the information we sought, we devised how we would overpower Mrs. Flamel and what we would do with the Stone once we had claimed it, and how we might seek the other Elements of Harmony. Our plotting was rendered unnecessary, however, as Perenelle preemptively came to visit us to show us the error of our ways."

Dumbledore visibly shuddered at the memory, and Harry knew better than to press for more details.

"She redirected our attention to the quest for another of the Elements... the Deathly Hallows, that which we already sought, the Element of Life. But as I came to learn over the years, my old friend Gellert Grindelwald was far more interested in becoming a Master of Death than Master of Life. The rest, as they say... is history."

Harry tentatively worked his way through his next question. "Someone... Someone I know told me briefly of the Elements of Harmony. He said that they were the 'ultimate McGuffin'."

At this, Dumbledore laughed, with genuine good humor. "Yes, I suppose you could call them that. Were all six of them assembled together, the wielder would have the power to, say, snap their fingers and make half of the Universe disappear." Dumbledore smiled as Harry's eyes grew wide. "But, the same could be said for many other devices and powers, some that are infinitely more commonplace. I'm sure that you could think of half a dozen ways to dismantle the world as we know it using nothing but your Time-Turner and Partial Transfiguration."

Harry smiled and nodded, but then furrowed his brow. "But, that's just it. How can you really be sure as to the limitation of the Stone, er.. the Element's power? You also thought Partial Transfiguration was impossible."

"You are correct, Harry, in that I do not know for certain. But would you be willing to gamble the fate of the world on your certainty? Because that is what is at stake." When Harry did not respond, Dumbledore continued. "The Stone's power is a curse; can you imagine, the power to change the world and yet to be forced to use it to its meanest end; youth and gold! To live in shackles, forced to stay on the sidelines as the world advances itself, is that what you truly desire?"

Harry looked down at his feet. "No."

"That is why I placed the Stone inside the Mirror. Because what better way to contain one Element of Harmony than to use another?"

Harry blinked. "Another Element of Harmony. Here at Hogwarts."

"Oh yes. In fact, given the fact that you are in possession of one-third of the Deathly Hallows, it's entirely possible that there may even be a third."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Let me guess, at some point, all six are going to coincidentally converge here at Hogwarts and I'm going to be at the center of the whole mess?"

Dumbledore chuckled again, "Not everything works out like a story, Harry."

Harry took note of Dumbledore's non-answer. "So, that's it, then? No ultimatums, no threats of suicide?"

Dumbledore gave Harry a humorless smile. "No, Harry, that won't be necessary." He turned to the perch on the other side of the office, and called, "Fawkes, if you will?"

The Phoenix looked up, laconically, and let out a short "Caw," floating over to Dumbledore's desk.

"Your hand, Harry?" Dumbledore requested as he extended his aged hand.

The moment Harry grasped it, he was engulfed in flame.

* * *

 _Earlier, Later, Simultaneously_

Where Harry was standing was formless Void, as far as the eye could see. It wasn't simply blackness; dark simply implied an absence of light. This was Nothingness. There was no black, no white, no light, no dark. There was simply nothing.

Nothing save for a slight, persistent coughing sound, coming from behind him.

"Hem, hem."

Harry whipped around and saw Dumbledore, and he saw the world. They were facing the back of a golden mirror resting in an unornamented frame. Beyond that mirror was a chamber, illuminated in lights of soft gold, with stone walls crafted of gentle, white marble. The Mirror did not touch the ground; the golden frame had no feet. It didn't look like it was hovering; it looked like it was fixed in place, more solid and motionless than the walls themselves. He also noticed, floating similarly motionlessly, a blood-red stone no larger than his thumb.

"This is a place beyond Time, Harry. It is here that I keep the Stone, and it is here that I view the various worlds created by the Mirror of Noitilov, or as some might call it, the Element of Space."

Harry watched, as if viewing a tape on fast-forward, twenty or so scenes of various Hogwarts' students living out their deepest fantasies.

"I do not need to issue any ultimatums or threats of suicide, simply because I know that you will not attempt to claim the Stone. Once this unpleasant mess with the Dark Lord is finished, it is I who eventually retrieves the Stone from its' hiding spot. Behold."

Harry could clearly see the pained look in Dumbledore's face as he watched what was clearly his family, materialize in the chamber in front of them. There was an old man and woman, along with a middle-aged man, and a young woman, all of whom bore a striking resemblance to the Headmaster.

The middle-aged man spoke, his voice sounding muffled, as if he were speaking underwater. "Truly? He has not simply retreated into one of his Horcruxes?"

The man stood still, as if listening.

"You should have killed him. It is less than he deserves."

Again the listening stillness.

"If you say so, Albus. So, what happens now? You are already here with us."

Listening stillness.

"But do you really think that the Stone belongs in your world? It would be safer, here with us. Where it belongs."

Silence, once more.

"I do not think that wise, brother." The middle-aged man let out a dry chuckle. "Even now, we have our quarrels. You know that I did not approve of its arrival here in the first place. If anything, you should destroy it."

The man nodded and sighed heavily. He began walking towards the mirror, and his form was obscured from view temporarily, until a hand reached out through the back of the Mirror and clasped its hand around the Stone.

The hand opened, and Harry saw his own hand fall. He looked up, and no longer saw the sleek back of the Mirror, but instead saw Dumbledore standing in his office, Fawked perched in his other hand.

The first thing Harry noticed was just how _loud_ the real world actually was. The air carried sounds, both significant and trivial; he could feel and hear his breath, his heartbeat, the sound his robes made as they swayed loosely in the slight breeze that came through the open window. "Why did you show me that?"

"Because, Harry, if I did not, I think that you would still have tried to claim the Stone. I hope that by showing you the inevitable future, that you will try no further to alter it. After all, I think you, of all people, know better than most..."

Rather than speak his next words, Dumbledore tore off a scrap of parchment and began to write in handwriting that was disturbingly familiar.

 _DO NOT MESS WITH TIME_

He held the scrap up to Fawkes, who dutifully snapped it up with his claws, and disappeared into a burst of flame.

"Ta, Harry."

* * *

As Harry walked, shell-shocked, from the Headmaster's office, he wasn't sure what to think.

No, that wasn't quite true. He was certain of one thing.

Before, Harry had wrestled with an uncomfortable feeling of powerlessness, of feeling somewhere in the back of his head that there was nothing he could do about Hermione, despite all of his outward protestations otherwise.

But now, Harry knew there _was_ something he could do, something he could begin acting towards _now_.

After all, the admonition was against messing with _Time_ , but it didn't say anything about _Power_ or _Space_.

* * *

 _Earlier_

It took a great deal of strength for Professor Quirrell to make the trek to the place where he intended to carry out the deed, roughly halfway between Hogwarts and Hogsmeade. If he simply planned to consume the creature's lifeblood, he would have done so the moment he steps outside the castle grounds. But he was looking for answers, and so it was of paramount importance that he not be disturbed.

He withdrew the small, violet stone from his robes, and placed it upon the smooth altar. As he withdrew his magic, he watched the unicorn begin to unfold itself from the stone's form. Its breathing was shallow, and it was clearly unconscious, but it was still alive. Quirrell pointed his wand at the creature and whispered.

 _Innervate._

The unicorn's eyes snapped open, and it looked up at him, weakly. He needed to find out whether the creature truly had some degree of intelligence or if it was simply speaking as a proxy for someone or something else. It seemed too tired to interact, despite the effects of the spell, so the Professor approached, lifting its face with his hands.

"Come now, little one... Open up your eyes..."

When he finally made eye contact, the thoughts began to flow into his mind in erratic waves. Bold, colorful images. Concepts without words or concrete form. Strains of music, lilting in from all directions. A pattern underlying it all, a pattern that made little sense to him, but perhaps...

Hope.

Hope was the only thing this unicorn had left in few remaining minutes of its life, and the Professor concluded that keeping that hope alive would provide him the best opportunity to extract the answers he sought. It did not recognize him in his current form, and as such, there was an opportunity. He must be seen as trying to help.

"I found you, you had been attacked. I was able to fight the creature off, but I'm not a healer."

It spoke to him, in the familiar yet alien manner of parseltongue. He knew, dimly in the back of his mind, that the noises coming from it were nothing but raspy grunts and nickers. And yet, it conveyed meaning, clear as day.

"Thank you…"

He delved deeper into its thoughts and explored that thin skein of hope and what it revolved around. Artifacts he did not recognize, six of them. And a person, no, two people, locked in struggle; he did not recognize them either. This could have proved problematic to someone who wasn't experienced in the art of lying and manipulation, but Professor Quirrell was no dilettante. He would focus on the artifacts: he needed enough specificity to strike a chord, but wrapped in enough ambiguity to deflect further questions.

Specificity: he made sure that he had the name of the artifacts correct... Ambiguity: a generic, nameless figure of great importance. "He sent me to find you, the Great One did. He sent me to find the Elements of Harmony."

Abruptly, the unicorn stood up on its front legs, its ruined back legs still on the ground. "Star Swirl? He is here?"

 _Like shooting fish in a barrel._

"Yes, he said you were in danger and that you needed help."

"You... will help us?"

"I can only help you insofar as you help me," Quirrell quickly prioritized. The prophecy was of the greatest importance, followed distantly by the Diadem. Whatever these Elements were, the Professor did not recognize them by name, but this was not altogether surprising. Magical artifacts often collected several names over the course of the ages. However, it was clear that they were central, in the mind of the unicorn, at least, to its interpretation of the prophecy.

The Professor continued, "Star Swirl said that I would need the Element of Harmony in order to stop the one who would tear apart the stars."

"Yes. Yes!" The creature seemed to regain a bit of its energy. "It was him, the one from the prophecy. He's the one who attacked me," Suddenly, its eyes went wide. "You. It's... you."

The Professor stiffened. He measured his next actions carefully, preparing to end the unicorn's life at a moment's notice. "Who?"

"I can see it. You... your reflection. Your dark mirror. That's who you have to stop."

It was now the Professor's eyes who went wide. The world of Magic had grown old to him, and he had grown weary of it. It had been quite a long time since he had felt that familiar feeling, the exhilarating rush of finding out something new, something interesting. He had once acted too hastily on the matter of prophecy and had paid dearly. He would not make that same mistake again. He needed to confirm.

"My... reflection?" He mimicked the unicorn's vocal style, pausing dramatically between words.

"You've created something terrible. He won't stop, The world will burn, and you are the only one who can stop him."

The tension left him. He still had the creature's trust. He could see that Ravenclaw's Diadem somehow also played a role in the prophecy, so he decided to take a gamble and play upon that trust. He removed the Diadem from his robes and held it up. "I was able to take this from him after I saved you."

The creature smiled widely and clapped its hooves together, but then began to cough up silvery blood.

He spoke with increased urgency. "This is important... I can help you... But only if you tell me everything you know. How do I use it?"

Its voice was becoming weak and soft. "I don't know how to explain it. I really don't, otherwise, I would tell you. It just... sort of works, when you need it to." It laid its head down, still maintains eye contact.

The Professor stared deep into the unicorn's consciousness, and amidst the swirling imagery, he inexplicably came to the distinct conclusion that this unicorn was feminine in nature. Desperately, he tried to connect disparate strands of thought together into something coherent that might give him a clue. It all came back to these Elements, whatever they may have been, and the two battling figures who now took the form of two wolves, one black, one white.

"Are the elements absolutely necessary? Do I need them to stop this darkness?"

Her eyes began to close, but she still smiled nonetheless. "No... the power is... within you." She paused, and with the last bit of strength she could muster, opened her eyes, one last time. "I think... I would like to rest now."

A wicked smile drew across the Professor's lips. "I think not. There is one more thing you must do for me."

She inclined her head upward just a bit, eyes still closed. "Yes?"

In one smooth motion, he held her face in his hands and drew his knife from his robes, pulling it violently across the veins in her neck. Savagely, he pressed his mouth to the gaping wound, wrapping the crook of his elbow around her neck, pulling her mane backwards with his free hand to expose more of her precious lifeblood. Blood poured out in spurting streams, and he directed as much of it as possible into his mouth, drinking deeply, sensually.

He hated this part.

It was debasing, it was filthy, losing control like this. It was beneath him, and yet, it was necessary.

He tried desperately to force the sensation down, but it was like trying to plug a gushing faucet with nothing but your fingers. There was no stopping it. He could feel the crude sensation tingling, building up at his extremities. As he could feel her soul depart her body, the sensation began to overtake him; he was reaching the precipice and he could not stop himself even if his life had depended upon it.

He hated himself, and yet, he continued to drink as the pulses of hot, indecent pleasure began to course through his body in rapturous waves. His breath was drawn in short, ragged pulls, and he drank away the last of her life, her soul, her very essence. Involuntarily, he shuddered as he felt her legs kick limply in their death throes.

He loosened his grip on her neck, and the last, weak dribbles of blood leaked from the wound. He worked his fingers, stretching them out. Gone was the arthritic pain that had set into his joins, the itchiness that had befallen his eyes. When he drew breath through his nose, it was clear, full, sweet breath. He was renewed. Alive.

Debased, but alive.

It would not do, of course, to leave her body here, and he could think of more than a handful of uses for a dead unicorn, and so he transfigured her once more into a small, violet stone and dropped it into his robes. He began the long trek back to the castle, a new skip in his step, whistling an atonal ditty as he walked.

* * *

 _Even earlier_

Star Swirl the Bearded strode down the streets of Ponyville, looking for the pony he sought, his beloved sister that he had once abandoned a lifetime ago, and was again forced to abandon during his thousand-year exile. He found her, a grey pegasus with a mop of messy blonde hair, blowing bubbles near a fountain in the town square.

He saw her first, but it was not long before her walleyed gaze turned to him and she lit up with excitement. She sped towards him at full speed, and overshot her landing by at least three meters, crashing into a nearby building and causing the potted plants on the awning above to rattle and fall off in a cacophony of noise and commotion.

Star Swirl smiled, nonetheless. "My love!"

She flew up and wrapped her hooves around him. "I've missed you!"

He nodded, gravely. "I missed you too."

She looked up at him earnestly. "Was it as long for you as it was for me?"

"No... It was as before, I was sent outside Time, to a frozen instant from which neither I nor any other could return. That time was lost to me forever."

She grinned. "I lost some time once. It's always in the last place you look for it." In the silence, she padded her hoof into the water in the fountain. "I wish I could swim."

He smiled and patted her gently on her wings. "Like dolphins can swim?"

She grinned. "And you said that nothing would keep us together."

He grinned back. "And what of our brother?"

The gray pegasus squinted her eyes in concentration and she tried to recall. "He goes by Grogar now. But I haven't seen him in..." She looked up as she tried to think. "At least three generations."

He tapped his hoof against the ground, awkwardly, trying to think of how to phrase the question in his mind, or if he should even ask it at all.

As if sensing his hesitation, the pegasus turned towards him. " _He_ isn't here yet, either."

Star Swirl nodded in understanding. "No, I suppose he would not be, given the timing of my original departure... But an old man can hope."

She giggled a bit at this, "You're not an old man anymore, you know."

He smiled but did not respond.

After a moment of silence, she spoke again. "I got to be a hero, did you hear?"

Star Swirl the Bearded's eyes lit up. "You did, did you? Do tell." He had, of course, heard of the invasion of the Storm King and her role in preventing it, but he did not want to steal her thunder.

"Yup. I saved Princess Twilight. A really angry unicorn with a broken horn tried to Petrify her, but I jumped in the way and took the curse for her. I didn't _really_ save the day, that was Twilight, but I don't know what we would have done if not for her."

She smiled, serenely, and bobbed her head to the side back and forth, speaking playfully. "I'm pretty good and taking curses that weren't meant for me, huh?"

Star Swirl stiffened. He could tell from her face and her tone that she meant nothing by it, whatsoever, but he still could not help but feel an intense wave of guilt. She seemed to notice the change in body language, and she spoke up.

"Silly, that was an eternity ago. And besides, I'm here, aren't I? We're together, again. After all, where your treasure is..."

"There will your heart be also," he completed. At that, she wrapped her arms around him in a tight squeeze, and he spoke: "You're right, We're here, and you're safe."


	5. Rhapsody in Blue, pg 1 and 2

**Author's Note: _The next portion of Hermione and Twilight's journey will be told in Graphic Novel form, with a few pages being released in between each written chapter. In total, the chapter will be roughly 15-20 graphic novel-sized pages._**

 ** _Unfortunately, I've found that this site doesn't let you insert images, or even links... So we'll have to do a workaround!_**

To view the first two pages of Rhapsody in Blue, go to the following address (but remove the brackets surround "com").

www.2pih.{com}/rib1


	6. My Past Is Not Today

Gellert Grindelwald's handsome face was grinning, despite being locked in three-way duel with his former best friend, Albus Dumbledore, and his brother Aberforth.

"Give it up, Albus. This is our birthright, and if you are too weak to claim it, then I have no further use for you. But I don't wish to hurt you!"

Albus slashed the air violently with his hand, only barely fending off the writhing tendrils of roots that had burst from the ground at Gellert's command. "Only if you swear to me to stop this madness. You've seen the price! Forty-five million dead? Even you can't pretend that's for the greater good!"

"Do you really think that we, the chosen of Atlantis, should be held culpable for blood on the hands of a mayfly leader of a Muggle country?" Gellert laughed as he effortlessly deflected the wall of ice that Albus had sent his way. "Besides, if you care so much about saving those Muggles, just send an owl to the Viennese Academy for Fine Arts in a few years"

A bolt of red light shot forth from Aberforth's wand. Unlike his brother, Aberforth was aiming to kill, not to subdue.

Another effortless deflection, another laughing taunt.

"I like your brother's style, Albus. I bet if it were up to him, he'd just kill the boy. Just take a quick jaunt down to Michaelsbergstraße, Aberforth... Burn the whole street down, just to be sure. If you love Muggles so much, I'm not sure why you don't!"

" _Avada Kedavra!"_

A gust of wind from Albus' hand blasted Gellert out of the way of the curse, and knocked Aberforth off his feet, his wand clattering a few feet away.

"Aberforth! Are you insane?"

The younger Dumbledore glared up at his older brother in rage, then looked past him to the object of his hatred. "He's rotting your brain, Albus. If you don't have the stomach to do it, then I will. It's 'for the greater good', after all," he spat, mockingly, while diving for his wand.

Grindelwald laughed, regaining his stance and twisted his wand in a telltale corkscrew pattern.

"NO!" Albus shouted, slashing his wand desperately. Gellert winced, withdrawing his hand which began blossoming blood. The curse had also struck a glancing blow across the side of Grindelwald's scalp, who wiped the blood out of his eyes with his free hand.

Aberforth had reached his wand by this point, and right before he fired a curse at Gellert, he saw Albus drawing a shield with his free hand, so he changed his plan: he flicked his wand to the side, casting a concentrated sonic lance which pierced the air and broke Albus' concentration.

The shield shattered, and Aberforth leapt up, slicing his wand low to destabilize Gellert's footing, preventing him from effectively dodging, then flicked a wide blade upward which could not be avoided by falling or jumping. As soon as Gellert felt the ground beneath him shift, he predicted Aberforth's vertical attack, and he cast a cord of rippling purple light outward. The rope wrapped itself around one of the support beams of the outdoor porch, and Gellert yanked hard, swinging himself out of the way of the blade and toward Aberforth.

As Grindelwald prepared to attack from overhead, an awkward angle from which to defend against, he felt the weight of Albus Dumbledore crash against him and carry them both to the ground. He stared up into Albus' eyes, which were but a few inches from his face, feeling Albus' hot breath against his lips.

Gellert spat insolently at Albus, " _Lesz egy ember akit a villám megjelölt és ő kioltja majd a csillagokat_."

As Albus was about to respond, he was interrupted by the sound of the door from the house opening, timidly. A small, young girl wearing a gray dress, with a mop of messy, blonde hair peered out from behind the door. She turned her walleyed gaze towards Albus, and lit up with excitement.

Aberforth gaped with horror. "Ari, you... you're not supposed to be here."

Albus looked back down at Gellert, who spoke to him with intensity, "Albus, you speak of forty-five million Muggles? That's but a fraction of the hundred billion that have lived and died since Atlantis. Sacrifices must be made, for the-"

Albus' hand, which was now running through Gellert's hair, gripped it firmly and yanked it backwards. "Don't say it, don't you dare say it. You never believed it, that's the difference between you and me. It was always a mask to you."

In silent response, Gellert pulled Albus face close, and kissed him, passionately. A few yards away, Ariana tittered and bounced up and down on her heels, ogling them and giggling excitedly.

"Does _that_ look like a mask, to you?" Gellert whispered. Albus was dazed. He had dreamed of this moment for quite some time, and he found he had quite some difficulty come to his senses. "Come with me, Albus. We can rebuild this broken world... together." He whispered this last word, breathlessly, into Albus' ear.

Aberforth had moved protectively between the two of them and Ariana, and sighed loudly. "Really? Now? He's toying with you, Albus." He kept his wand trained on the two of them and his free hand on Ariana's shoulder, trying to slowly guide her back into the house.

Hot tears formed at the corners of Albus' closed eyes, and he whispered a single world that echoed with finality.

"No."

Aberfoth's tense posture noticeably slackened. Ariana cocked her head, quizzically. Grindelwald sighed.

"You stupid, stupid boy." Violently, he shoved Albus off of him, rolled aside, and jumped up. "I'm leaving, Albus. Without you."

Without further dramatics, he began to walk away, approaching the edge of the wards around the house that would have prevented him from Disapparating. When he finally reached the faintly shimmering veil, he turned around and spoke.

"But of course..." he nodded his head towards Aberforth,"I can't let him live to stop me."

And with that, a violent crackle reverberated through the air as forked lightning shot towards Albus and Aberforth. In instantaneous response, both Aberforth and Albus shot forth spells of their own. Aberforth knew that Albus would react defensively for both of them, and shot a bolt of pure elemental force in Gellert's direction which would have been instantly fatal had it connected. Albus knew that Aberforth would not bother with defense, and despite the inevitable war that would come, he could not bear to see Gellert die. Not here, not now.

Three points of brilliant intensity shot forth, intercepting Gellert's lightning and Aberforth's elemental blast. The six streams of magic danced in the early twilight, casting shadows of deep violet, ivory, and aquamarine. The magic reverberated in sinusoidal waves, casting off sparks and fireworks both beautiful and terrible. The three grunted in magical exertion, desperately trying to maintain the force of their own magic. Pure offense was easily outmatched by pure defense in a one-on-one duel; but Albus' power was divided between both Gellert and Aberforth, and for a moment, it seemed like none of them would prevail.

Until...

"Ooo... shiny..."

Ariana, enamored by the dazzling light show, wandered from behind Aberforth, and held her hand outstretched towards the display of crackling magic. Aberforth, Albus, and Gellert's eyes went wide in horror. As her hand reached closer and closer, it was Aberforth who broke first.

"Ari, stop!"

Like removing one of three legs of a stool, the balance had been shattered. The magical force erupted, and the sky went white. A hot wave of force washed over the four of them with flecks of intertwined magic concentrating in a single direction. If the pulsating bursts of magic hadn't already blasted them backwards, the rumbling of the ground would have knocked them off their feet, where the intensity of the evaporating magic made any sight beyond a few feet all but impossible.

When the air had finally cleared, Gellert was gone, and Ariana was dead. All that Albus Dumbledore could hear before he drifted into unconsciousness was his brother whispering with desperate abandon, "Please... not her... take me instead. Please..."

* * *

Alice Longbottom's head was buried in Frank's shoulder, she couldn't bear to look. Frank had a wary eye on Albus Dumbledore, fixedly keeping his gaze away from the box that the house elf had dropped off minutes before. Minerva McGonagall tried to place her hand on Albus' back, but he slapped it away. He paced back and forth, manic.

"What's in the box, Alastor?"

Alastor Moody was the only person in the room who was still staring at the box, the Eye of Vance whizzing erratically back and forth. He did not speak.

In his absence, the ghostly, echoing voice of Lord Voldemort emanated from the open box.

 _He just told you..._

 _"_ No. Alastor. Say it's not true."

Alastor shook his head. "I'm sorry, Albus. There's a lot that I'd do for you, but lie to your face isn't one of them."

 _Become vengeance, Albus..._

"What's in the bloody box?!" He shouted, shaking his head in desperation. He didn't need to look. He could feel that he was now alone in sustaining the transfiguration that he had assisted in maintaining at Aberforth's request, nay, demand.

 _Aberforth was nearly late, and nodded curtly at Albus when he arrived. Albus noted the strange new necklace hanging around Aberforth's neck, a delicate glass collection of five or six interconnected bubbles, but said nothing of it. In fact, they barely said a word to each other until after the funeral, when Aberforth had approached him and taken his hand and placed it upon the necklace._

 _"Albus, you need to do your part."_

 _Albus cocked his head at this, but then his eyes widened in recognition as he recognized the magic of transfiguration. "Forbearance?" He_ _whispered, glancing back at the closed coffin which had already been lowered into the freshly dug earth of Godric's Hollow._

 _Aberforth said nothing, but only nodded._

 _"Surely... surely you don't believe in that rubbish. That's for purebloods, daft fools who worship the Sacred Twenty-"_

 _POW_

 _Albus was gamely interrupted by a fist to the face, which knocked him square off his feet._

 _"You always were a selfish bastard, Albus. You never liked her, Ariana the Albatross, around the great Albus Dumbledore's neck. She loved you, she adored you... and you, you couldn't even give a damn." Aberforth breathed heavily from the effort of the punch, his voice raising in volume. "It's your fault she's dead. It may not have been by your hand, but it was you that brought it on her."_

 _Albus, still on the ground, was looking stolidly downward, wiping the blood from his broken nose. Aberforth leaned down and roughly lifted him up. "Look me in the eye, Albus. Look at me!" Aberforth demanded._

 _Still shuddering in anger from both the insult and the physical blow, Albus looked at his brother in the eyes. "I'm sorry, Aberforth."_

 _"If you're sorry, then do this for me. It always burned me that she adored you more than me. When I cared for her more in a day than you had in your entire life. You might not believe in it. Hell, I don't even know if I do, either. Maybe it's just a twisted lie, but it's a comforting one, Albus. You lost your chance to do it for her, but the least you could do is to do it for me."_

 _Aberforth thrust the necklace out in Albus' direction, who nodded and wrapped_ _his hand around it. He felt the magic, the underlying form beneath the substance, and it was unmistakeable. Lifeless, but unmistakeable. Tears coming to his eyes, he let his own magic flow through, reinforcing Aberforth's, maintaining the transfiguration for as long as he would live._

He was jostled out of his recollection by the sound of the door to the swinging open. Amelia Bones and her brother, Edgar strode into the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, a hidden set of rooms concealed behind a bookcase in the Headmaster of Hogwarts' office. Oblivious to the mood in the room, she began speaking immediately as the door closed behind her. "Dearborn's gone missing, hasn't made any of the standard check-ins in the last forty-eight hours. We're hoping against hope that he-"

She slowly trailed off as she saw the somber face of Moody, staring into an open box, and Dumbledore pacing back and forth with a crazed expression. Amelia was sharp, she knew that Aberforth had been kidnapped and was held for ransom, and she could put two and two together easily enough.

"Oh, no... No, Albus, no..."

As if Moody was waiting for someone who would be amenable to his suggestion to enter the room, he began speaking, slowly, testing the reaction to his words. "We need to respond. We need to send them a message."

This seemed to be the only thing that Dumbledore reacted to. He nodded, slowly. "Yes... A message."

Minerva, on the other hand, eyed Moody suspiciously. "A message? What kind of... 'message' do you have in mind?" Her lips and voice were both quite thin.

"I'll let Albus answer that one." Moody demurred, looking up at him.

"I... I need a moment. Please, will you all please give me my privacy?"

Without further prompting, the assembled members of the Order of the Phoenix filed swiftly into an adjoining room. When the door had closed behind the last of them, Albus Dumbledore walked over slowly and peered down into the box.

Aberforth's severed head, eyes and mouth open in a silent, bloodcurdling scream of pain, stared up at him. The glass bubble necklace that Aberforth had always worn around his neck was missing, but not gone, as its transfiguration was now maintained by Albus alone, and he could still feel the vague, persistent tug of Magic deep within his person. His brother's head was perfectly preserved; it almost gave off the impression that the box was part of some invisibility cloak that only revealed the head of its wearer.

As Dumbledore suspected, the head was preserved by Voldemort himself, and was impervious to any sort of modification. A perpetual insult, meant to serve as a reminder of the heinous deed, but ultimately turned into a weapon against its maker. When Voldemort had supposedly been defeated that fateful Halloween night a year later, the first thing Dumbledore had done after hearing the news was retreat into the private room in his office, discovering that the head was still intact, perfectly preserved.

He knew, at that moment, that the Dark Lord had not truly died, but had merely fallen. Voldemort's hold over the transfiguration, though still present, had weakened, and Dumbledore had used that opportunity to alter the form of Aberforth into something less painful to look upon: an ornate ring set with a brilliant sapphire, engraved with a stylized set of goat horns, and he wore that ring on his finger from that day forth.

In the present, though, Dumbledore had noticed glistening, silvery tears in Aberforth's eyes, swimming with telltale white wisps: clearly a memory preserved, and Albus didn't need to guess which of Aberforth's memories that Voldemort had left him with. Nonetheless, Albus collected them in a small silver phial, approached his Pensieve, and steeled himself for what was to come.

* * *

 _Later_

"Narcissa, take Draco and go! It's him!" shouted a man's voice. "Go! Run! I'll hold him-"

His voice was cut off by a wordless, almost lazy flick of a wand, and the intruder advanced.

"Not Draco, not Draco, please not Draco!" screamed the woman's voice.

"Step aside, woman," said the cold, dispassionate voice. "I have not come for you, only the boy."

"Not Draco! Please... have mercy... have mercy..."

She flung her arms protectively in front of the door at the back corner of their bedroom, as if a wandless witch with little to no battle experience could somehow turn aside the indomitable wrath of Albus Dumbledore.

"I give you this rare chance to flee," said the cold voice. "But I will not trouble myself to subdue you and your death here will not save your child. Step aside, foolish woman, if you have any sense at all!"

"Not Draco, please no, take me, kill me instead!"

Albus Dumbledore cocked his head as if deeply considering this. After an endless moment, he finally spoke. "Very well," said the voice of death, sounding coldly resigned. "I accept the bargain. Yourself to die, and the child to live. Now step forward so that I can murder you."

There was a hideous silence.

Albus Dumbledore began to chant, a horrible, rhythmic chant.

 _Az-reth, Az-reth, Il-dan, Il-dan, Ma-ev, Ma-ev_

As twisted fire began pouring out of the flaming rune that Dumbledore had conjured, a percussive crack filled the room as Lucius Malfoy managed to break through his immobilization, and he shrieked in desperate hate, "Avada ke-"

A gust of air slammed him against the back wall, knocking the wind of out him, preventing him from completing the incantation. Dumbledore held him firmly in place with magic emanating from his outstretched hand, and casually guided the crackling flame above the bed.

Lucius struggled mightily, screaming, yet producing no sound, as Dumbledore flicked his wand, sending Narcissa screaming onto the bed.

"Incarcerous!"

Thick, black cords emerged from the aether, binding her firmly to the four posts of the Malloy's lavishly appointed bed. Amid the crackling of flames and Narcissa's shrieks, the faint sound of a small baby boy crying wafted from the adjacent room.

Satisfied that Narcissa was properly bound, Dumbledore whirled on his feet and turned to Lucius, holding his wand underneath Malfoy's chin. "You were there, weren't you?" he asked, quietly.

Lucius did not answer.

"ANSWER ME!"

"Please... not her... take me instead. Please..."

Dumbledore's mouth turned up in a twisted smile. "My brother spoke those same words as he cradled our sister in his arms." As he spoke, he slowly dragged the Elder Wand up Lucius' chin, across his face, to his forehead, deliberately pushing into his skin hard enough to occasionally draw blood. "But would you know, there was no one to listen? LEGILIMENS!"

The memories of Aberforth's torture and eventual murder slammed into Lucius' mind, as Albus Dumbledore continued to speak. "Your 'Dark Lord' forced him to relive that memory as he tortured him... but you already know this, don't you, Lucius? You were there. You watched as Tom Riddle murdered my brother."

The memories withdrew, and Albus violently flung his hand backwards and cast the rippling cloud of flame that was hovering threateningly over the bed downward, engulfing Narcissa, who immediately let out a bloodcurdling, horrifying scream. Lucius thrashed violently against the invisible bonds that held him, his eyes wide and welling with tears.

"Do you know why Tom Riddle fears me, boy? Do you?"

Lucius could not answer. He stared wide-eyed as he watched the love of his life, the mother of his child, consumed by violent, blood-red flame. Her screams had ceased. A dim part of Lucius' mind wondered if this was because she was dead, or because the part of her lungs capable of screaming had simply burned away.

Dumbledore's voice lowered to a menacing whisper, "He knows what I am capable of, but he does not know where I draw the line."

He moved the wand deliberately down Lucius' face, down his side, to the top of his leg. The wand's tip glowed the same shade of red as the burning flames, and he pressed it to Lucius' skin, who began writhing with physical pain to match the emotional. He slowly drew a line down Lucius' leg, leaving a trail of sticky, liquid flame which charred and bubbled the flesh beneath.

"You tell Tom Riddle, if you survive, that he has crossed that line, and if he crosses that line again..."

Albus Dumbledore held his hands up, and a blazing Phoenix crashed through the window. When its claws caught his hands, he exploded in a fanstastic burst of flame, which scattered across the room.

The curse which rendered Lucius immobile evaporated, dropping him to the ground. He tried to stand up, but his leg would not support his weight from the pain of the liquid flame. As he dragged himself across the bedroom floor to the door that opened into Draco's room, he heard the booming voice of Albus Dumbledore complete the sentence:

 _The world will burn!_

* * *

"Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, what have you done?!" Minerva McGonnagal demanded, half-shrieking, half-hissing, staring down at the unconscious, but unharmed body of Narcissa Malfoy.

Dumbledore's head was firmly planted in his hands, and he did not look up at her.

"We agreed that you'd take the boy! As abominable as I find the idea of using an innocent baby as a piece of meat, at least we all agreed upon a plan! But this, this is a grown woman, Albus! "

Without warning, Alastor Moody had clambered into the chamber and began speaking without introduction or preamble.

"I agree with Minerva. We can't just stuff her in a cradle and change her nappies and expect her to keep quiet until we're ready to trade her back to the Malfoys! And besides, ol' Lucius is a lot more likely to get sentimental about his son than his wife, I expect." His magical eye whizzed around in his head a few times before fixing itself upon Narcissa's supine body. "Although..."

James Potter scoffed, idly playing with a Golden Snitch. "Always the delicate one, Alastor."

Dumbledore looked up at Lily and James through his fingers. "And what say you, James?"

James shrugged. "We had to send a message, didn't we? Judging by the state of you, I'd say you did just that."

Albus nodded. "And it almost destroyed me... anyone who can bring themselves to play the role of a monster-"

"-Yes, yes, they're a monster too. Take a good look at me, Albus. Yer' not a monster. I can guarantee you that whatever it is you did tonight wouldn't hold a candle to some of the things I've done on a mild day." He leaned in closer. " _And I wasn't acting._ "

"We've all heard your lecture on how rotten you are, how you can cast the Killing Curse at will, at how much you wanted Grice dead, blah blah blah..." James cut in with a smile, and then contorted his voice into a thick brogue in open mockery of Moody. " _I didn't do it for justice, or to stop him, I did it because I wanted him dead._ "

Lily giggled. "I, for one, am glad to have heard his lectures. It's good to know my limits. You know me, I'm always giving people the benefit of the doubt." James rolled his eyes at her, and she decided to toy with him a bit. "You know, I bet I wouldn't even be able to manage a Killing Curse if Voldemort himself turned up in our house."

James groaned and Lily laughed. "Lily, don't make a liar out of me, I'm always telling people how good you are with a wand!" She mussed his already-mussed hair as he protested.

"You should watch out for how much you talk me up. I don't know how much good I'd be able to do in this state. I'm about to burst." She gestured down to her distended stomach, and James warmly laid his head down upon it.

"At least you're here today, which is more than I can say for Alice. She's due any day now, too, isn't she?" Suddenly, his eyes lit up. "He kicked! He kicked, did you feel it?" James' wand, which was sticking out of his back pocket, glowed a faint golden.

Lily rolled her eyes, "If you can feel it through _my_ stomach..."

Moody made a fake retching sound, "Alright, you two, you can wait until you get back to Godric's Hollow for that namby-pamby nonsense. We need to come up with a plan."

Dumbledore finally looked up from his hands. "As it so happens, Alastor, I do have a plan." As if on cue, a loud knock came from outside the Headmaster's office, and Dumbledore and Minerva quickly left the chamber and closed the bookcase behind them, leaving James and Lily alone with Alastor Moody. They listened intently to the voices from inside the Headmaster's office.

"Coming!" They heard Dumbledore shout pleasantly.

The opening of a door. A bombastic, loud voice, "Greetings, Greetings, Headmaster! A pleasure to see you, sir. What can I do for you, or you for me?"

"Thank you for answering my call at such a late hour, Gilderoy. I'm afraid I have a favor to ask of you..."

* * *

Lucius gazed at the mantle in the Oblatorium of Malfoy Manor, staring at the figurines. Each one a different, unique sculpture, each representing a departed family member. As he stroked them, he could feel the magic that maintained the transfiguration flow through not only him, but all those who knew and loved the departed. That is, until he reached her figurine; a small, gilded lyre bathed in mint green light.

It was deliberate, burning her away to ash, not allowing her to take part in the Ritual of the Forbears. Denied an honor that was extended to even the lowest of House Elves, after a fashion.

The Lyre represented the Lyre of Orpheus, who had travelled into the Underworld in order to save the one he loved. Narcissa was always fond of that story, and it was their little joke that one of them would have to be the other's Orpheus. But that was no longer possible. She was gone. She no longer existed. She was absolutely annihilated and was not coming back.

With each generation, the magic that maintained the transfigurations grew weaker. He and his brethren would do anything to stop that from happening. Not for their own sake, but for the sake who all who came before them. They would ally with any tyrant, make any sacrifice, pay any price... And that price had come due. Guilty of no crime but loving Lucius, his Narcissa, his beautiful, innocent Narcissa, had been denied the Awakening.

He noticed that his cane was rattling on the floor as he leaned on it for support. The pain of his cursed leg was still raw. Duller now, but it would take years for it to fully subside. He stroked the silver serpent at the top of the cane and lost himself in watching his infant son playing on the floor, unaware of the turmoil that lay beneath his father's steely visage.


	7. Dr Swann's Proposal

_June 7, 1992  
Hogwarts_

"No, Amelia," Dumbledore spoke, wearily. "I do not think it is something to worry about."

Dumbledore had been steadfastly ignoring the urgent calls from Azkaban, alerting them that one of their Dementors had gone missing.

"That's the second one in a matter of months, Albus."

"I'm well aware. Although, I cannot pretend to be saddened by the loss of one of these monstrous creatures."

"And I'm well aware, Albus," Amelia Bones mocked in frustration, "of your disdain for doing what needs to be done when it fails to line up with your well-signaled virtues. At this rate, Azkaban will be unguarded within a few years."

"Yes, and what a pity that would be," Dumbledore replied, dryly.

"Be as high-minded as you want, but unless you can build us another Nurmengard, we need them."

"I would consider it my life's greatest achievement if I could do so."

"But you can't!" Amelia shouted, her voice distorting through the two-way mirror. "And that's my point! You may have bested Grindelwald in battle, but in this matter, you were not his equal."

Dumbledore sighed. "Yes, I know that, and it pains me every day."

"This has something to do with the Potter boy," Amelia changed tacks abruptly.

"Oh?" Albus asked pleasantly. "But, then again, doesn't everything?"

Bones grunted, half in agreement, half in frustration. "We need to work together on this. We fight the same enemy, Albus."

"It is true, that you and I fight the same enemy. But as for the boy, I fear he does not think as small-minded as we two fools."

"Tell me if you learn anything new from him," she dismissed his cryptic response.

"Oh Amelia," he replied politely. "When have I ever been forthcoming about my secrets?"

"That will get us into trouble one day, Albus. Bones out." And at that, the mirror went dark.

When Dumbledore was sure the mirror was no longer transmitting, Dumbledore pulled out the sopping wet, black tattered cloak that he had retrieved from the Black Lake not minutes earlier, having been alerted to its presence and subsequent destruction by the death wards surrounding Hogwarts.

He smiled, despite himself.

* * *

 _Earlier  
_ _The Hogwarts common._

The next morning after meeting with Dumbledore, Harry noticed an unusually large crowd gathered outside on the commons. It was mostly boys, although there were a handful of girls; few that he recognized, though. Ashley Bahl was one of them, the only remaining descendent of Phegor Bahl, inventor of the famed Bahl's Stupefaction. He also recognized Nymphadora Tonks, although she was looking a bit more... roguish than usual. He looked up to see what the crowd was staring at, and up in the sky, on a broom, he saw Rainbow Witch dashing through the air on a broomstick, doing tricks and plainly loving the attention. She seemed very natural, as if the sky was where she was meant to be.

When she spotted him, she shouted down to him. "Hey, Harry! Yeah, you! Come on up here, I heard you're really good on one of these!"

Out of nowhere, Oliver Wood thrust a broom into his hands, and several of the boys around him whistled appreciatively and gave him large, exaggerated winks. Although, for the life of him, he couldn't understand why. "Go on, Harry!" Wood urged.

Tentatively, although swiftly, he rose in the air to meet her.

"You're not too bad, that was a speedy ascent!" She called to him.

"Yeah, I'm not exactly proud of it."

"Why not?"

"I happen to believe that taking unnecessary pride in physical prowess is..." He tried to think of a term that she would properly respond to," ...lame."

"You're the lame one!" She spat.

"Good one?"

She was idly riding in circles around him, turning upside down on occasion. "Come on, isn't this fun? What's the point, otherwise?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "I could think of a lot of things that would be a lot better use of my time than flying around on tool primarily used for cleaning floors."

"Oh yeah? Like what?"

"Oh, I don't know, trying to bring my friend back? Trying to bring your friend back?"

Rainbow Witch paused, briefly. "Oh. Yeah, I guess that's important. But do you think your friend would really want you just wasting your life, moping around? Or do you think she'd want you having fun?"

Harry was ready to deliver a biting reply, but he thought for a moment. This was the sort of question Pinkie Pie would have asked him. But, if he really thought about it, and if he asked Hermione honestly, she _wouldn't_ want him just moping around. "Probably not. You know, your friend, Pinkie Pie, we had a pretty similar conversation about this."

"Yeah, that doesn't surprise me. Pinkie likes fun even more than I do, and that's saying something."

Harry bobbed up and down on the broom for a moment, thinking how to phrase his question. "So, do you all... you know, respect her? She mentioned that, well, how do I put this? She made a lot of scarily accurate guesses about me, things that you'd really only be able to figure out if you were insanely observant, logical, and very good at making accurate predictions. But you all don't really seem to treat her like she's very smart."

Rainbow Witch laughed a bit at this. "Oh, one of her hunches, huh?"

Harry nodded emphatically. "Yes, that's exactly what she called it. But when I asked her about it, she said that no one really asks her to explain herself."

"Well sure, I learned to stop asking her ages ago. The last time she tried to explain one of her hunches to me, she wound up talking about grambitational pull and terminal philosophy and reference fangs for about thirty minutes and she totally lost me."

Harry could only barely piece together what he assumed Pinkie Pie was talking about. "So you all have physics, where you come from?"

"Well, duh! Of course we have physics. What else do you think keeps the world running?"

Harry grumbled in frustration. "I mean, do they _teach_ physics?" Harry only just noticed that Rainbow Witch was staring at him in expectation, and realized too late that he had fallen for her joke, hook, line, and sinker.

She laughed uproariously at him and spun around him a few times. "Yes, they _teach_ physics. Jeez, you need to lighten up, or you're not going to have many friends."

Harry rolled his eyes again. "Are you going to give me friendship lessons now, too?"

"Probably? Me and my friends, we're called all over the place to solve friendship problems." She could see that he wasn't following, so she continued. "Where I'm from, we have a big map of the world that lets us know when there's a friendship problem that needs to be solved. We call it the 'Friendship Map', but Discord told us that we should call it the 'Ball of Prophecies' while we're here."

Harry couldn't help but grin at the ridiculousness of Discord's arbitrary names. "And it told you to come here?"

"Yeah. Well, kind of. Twilight, she's been visiting this world on and off for years, now. But for a while, she's been really freaking out about this one prophecy, one that we already figured out in our world."

Harry's felt an increasingly uncomfortable sense of apprehension. "By any chance does it go something like, 'On the longest day of the thousandth year, the stars will aid in her escape, and she will bring about nighttime eternal.'?"

Rainbow Witch's eyes went wide. "Yeah! Wow, how did you guess?"

Harry shrugged and grinned. "Just a hunch."

She nodded and went on. "Huh! Alright, well, she's been-"

"Wait, wait. You're not even going to _ask_? You really take these impossibly wild guesses in stride, don't you?"

"Why bother? I mean, you can tell me, but if you start to go all Pinkie on me, I'm going to start doing pinwheels until you're done."

Harry sighed. "Fine, continue."

She had already sped off a few meters and had to brake, hard, when she heard him. She floated back and went on. "Well, anyway. She's been reading into this prophecy, saying something about the "crux", how magic from our world was seeping into yours and was going to cause something terrible to happen unless she was able to "throw the pebble in the pond". Normally, when she visits, she looks like we do now, but this time-"

"Huh?"

Rainbow Witch suddenly seemed to realize that she may have misspoken, and she quickly backtracked. "Doesn't matter. Anyway, she came over to this world, and it was a _really_ long time before we saw her again. Just when we started to get concerned, that's when the Map- er... the 'Ball of Prophecies' lit up and told us to come here."

"So, how long have you all known each other, then?"

"Oh, a pretty long time. Years, at least "

"Since you were kids, then? "

'Ehh, not all of them. I mean, I knew Fluttershy, er... 'Jane', I guess. I knew her growing up. But I met the rest of my friends later. "

"Wait, so how old are you?

"Hm." She seemed to be putting serious thought into the question. "You know, I don't really know."

Harry had heard it was rude to ask a woman her age, so he wasn't sure if this was something that he should pry on. But on the other hand, she didn't seem to be particularly upset or reticent to discuss the subject. "Why not?"

"Well, you just sort of lose track, don't you? I mean, do you know how old you are?"

"Yes, eleven."

"What do you mean, you're eleven? Eleven what?"

"Eleven years...?"

"Right, I don't get it. Eleven years of what?"

Harry was starting to get annoyed. "I mean that in the time between when I was born and today, at least eleven years have passed. How else would I mean it?"

"Are you being serious? You… you're just a baby. Not even a baby."

Harry huffed, defensively. ''How old are you then? Just take a shot in the dark. A wild guess. Older or younger than, say, 20?"

She laughed. "Good one." Harry didn't respond. He didn't even really know how to respond to that. When it was clear that Harry was not going to provide further feedback, she continued. "Well, I know I have to be less than 1000 because I wasn't around for Princess Luna's banishment," she said, mostly to herself.

Harry eyed her. "How long do you think a year is?"

"Um, it's four seasons long, duh."

"Okay... and how long is a season?"

"What do you mean?"

"I feel like the question was pretty self-explanatory."

Getting equally annoyed, herself, she turned the line of questioning around on him. "Okay, how long is a day? "

"24 hours."

"And how long is an hour? "

Harry rolled his eyes. "Okay, I see where you're going here. An hour is 3,600 seconds. And one second is roughly 9,000,000,000 cycles of a cesium atomic clock. But not that it matters. I'm guessing we don't have the same standard units of time, even though we use some of the same words."

"I guess so. One thing I can say is your days are a lot longer than ours. Like, a whole lot longer. It feels like forever since I got to take a nap." She let out an exaggerated yawn.

Harry was diving down a tangential rabbit hole, but this was kind of fascinating. After all, how often does one ever really get to have this kind of conversation?

"OK well, how about this. You mentioned two princesses. How old was the queen when she had them?"

"Queen? We don't have a queen where I'm from. "

"What? Then where did the princesses come from?"

"Yeah, 'Princess' is a title you earn, not one you're born with. What stupid sort of system would let you be a ruler just because of who your parents were?"

Harry laughed, humorlessly. "There are a lot of people, myself included, who would agree with you… But sadly, a lot who would disagree, too. It's a rather progressive idea. "

"It's not 'progressive', it just makes sense."

"Exactly. Progressive. You should see the kinds of things that people believe, here. Racism… Sexism… A lot of people here even think it's bad if you're a boy who likes other boys or…" He tested his next words, gently. "Or a girl who likes other girls… "

She stopped flying, abruptly, and hung in midair glaring at him. "Okay, what is it with this place? You are like, the fifth person to go out of their way to talk about that, about 'boys liking boys' and 'girls liking girls'." She paused for a moment. "Although now that I think about it, you're the first boy that said something… But anyway. Is that... not a thing here?"

"Well… Yes, it's a thing, but… People don't exactly… well, it makes you different. And people don't always like 'different' here."

"Hm." She looked at him thoughtfully. "I guess people must not like you, then. "

"I… Well… Like I said, people don't always like 'different'."

She folded her arms in a self-satisfied manner. "Yeah, I've only been here a few days, and it's obvious you like that blond boy, what's his name, Dracula? And you're a boy… "

"What? Draco? Yes I, look – "

"Come to think of it, I see a lot of girls liking girls and boys liking boys, here... oh… I get it! Is that what this school is for? People who are 'different'?"

Harry stammered out his response, "No, I mean, yes, but. No. Yes, we're different, but, not different like, that… Not that there's anything wrong with that, of course. And me and Draco, we are friends, that's all. I don't think I'm even old enough to really like someone like that. I mean, when did it… Well… OK, forgive me for being so forward but, do you, you know… Like girls?"

She laughed at him. "Well duh. Of course I like girls. Who wouldn't I like somebody just because they're a girl? That's dumb. I like boys, too, for that matter."

Harry couldn't tell if she being deliberately obtuse to get a rise out of him, or if she was blissfully oblivious. "No, I mean… _LIKE_ , like."

Internally, he shook his head at himself. He could not believe that he actually used the phrase ' _LIKE_ , like' in a non-ironic manner. He continued, "As in, do you like girls enough to maybe, one day, eventually, I don't know, have a baby with them? Or," Harry winced. "Do the things that lead to babies being made."

"You mean, travel up to the stars with the Princess of the Night, pick one out, and take it down from the sky?"

"Is THAT how you think babies are made?"

"Well, yeah. That's how Twilight's brother did it. He and Princess Cadence tell me the story all the time."

"They tell you the-" Harry blinked a few times. "Well, it's certainly a creative take on 'the stork'… I hate to break it to you, not that I have personal experience, but the actual process is a lot more… Messy. "

She rolled her eyes at him. "I know that, dummy, I'm a lot older than you are, you know. I just didn't want to go all Sci-Twi and talk about star fusion and quantum identity patterns and Birthing Matrixes and all that boring stuff about how babies are REALLY made."

It was Harry's turn to stop flying in midair and stare, open-mouthed, at her.

"We… It's done a bit differently here. A bit more, uh, organically. So, where you are from, are people even able to have babies without the help of a 'princess', which I assume is some kind of euphemism for 'scientist'?"

"Nice word. And, no, how else would you travel up to the stars?"

Harry stared at her blankly. "So… 'Princess' isn't a euphemism then. "

"Are you sure you know what that word means?"

Harry thought for a moment, vaguely annoyed that his advanced vocabulary was being corrected by a punk rock version of a dumb jock. "Why don't you walk me through exactly what happens when you all… Make babies."

She grinned at him. "Are you sure you can handle it? Well, went two ponies really love each other –"

"Ponies?" Harry cut in.

She blinked a few times and backtracked "It's, uh... It's a euphemism. You know, like the 'birds and the bees'?"

Harry was satisfied, if not confused by the explanation. His brain had been so overloaded with bizarre information that he had temporarily turned off his "pay attention to small notes of confusion" functionality and had shifted into somewhere into 'skeptical credulity' mode. "Sure. So when two 'ponies' really love each other..."

"Yeah, so, when two people want to bring new life into the world, they submit their request to the Princess of the Sun."

Harry had to try very hard to not interrupt her with more questions, which manifested itself as him squirming and fidgeting awkwardly with the hem of his robe. She had paused in anticipation of this but noted his courteous silence. She smiled, and nodded in acknowledgment of his restraint, and continued.

"Whenever a new land is discovered, or," she said the next phrase somewhat hastily, "Whenever there's a vacancy, she will approve the request and send them notification of her choice. Then, on the next full moon, the Princess of the Night will take them into the stars."

Harry was chewing on his fist to prevent himself from shouting out questions.

"They find a star that speaks to them. Well, not, literally, it doesn't talk to them, but, one that, you know, seems to be the right fit. And then the Princess takes it out of the sky, and then..." She paused for a moment, eyeing Harry suspiciously. "Okay, you kind of got me, there. I don't actually know all the science that happens next. All I know is, the star disappears from the sky, and then three seasons later, a baby crawls out of a birthing chamber."

Harry waited a few interminable seconds to make sure that she was completely done, and then he opened his mouth and vomited out a torrent of questions. "What on Earth is the Princess of the Sun? What do you mean 'when a new land is discovered'? What is a vacancy? Are your people sterile, otherwise? Where, physically, are you all located? I'm getting this dystopian future, Neuromancer-type feel to things here."

She tried to take them one at a time. "The Princess of the Sun, she's in charge of… Well, a lot of stuff. One of those things is deciding who gets to bring new life into the world, and when."

"Got it. So the 'sun' the part is a metaphor?"

"Yeah, for the most part. It's definitely not a euphemism."

"You're a jerk."

She cackled and zoomed on her broom a few times around, him leaving iridescent whorls of dust in her wake. "We have people called 'explorers' whose job it is to find new lands and make them suitable for people to live in. But, I think that word is a euphemism because they never seem to actually be exploring. They're always cooped up in the castle at Canterlot, doing science things."

"Do these people, these 'explorers', happen to use telescopes a lot?"

She stopped her circles. "Hey, your hunches are almost as good as Pinkie's!"

"Speaking of Pinkie and hunches, what's your name? I mean, your real name, not the one that Discord gave you. To be honest, I've been calling you Rainbow Witch in my head since I saw you." When she didn't say anything in response, he blurted out, "You know, because of your hair. "

"Well, you're half right. Rainbow Dash is the name, being awesome is my game!"

She flew by him and gave him a hearty pat on the back. He awkwardly tried to return the gesture but missed by a solid half meter.

"Nice to meet you. "

Harry's barometer for prediction felt like a compass that had been shoved up against a massive electromagnet. His current theory, which he assigned credence of 10%, maybe 15% tops, was that Rainbow Dash and her friends came from an advanced human society that had somehow figured out interstellar travel. They clearly hadn't mastered terraforming; otherwise, why would they be living in a tightly regimented, pseudo-post-scarcity dystopia/utopia?

It was only eight or nine months ago that his entire understanding of the world and the universe was turned upside down, so what was one more reality-bending revelation. Although he wasn't totally confident about the whole "portal-generating space humanoids" hypothesis, he assigned much higher credence to his next prediction: The destruction of Atlantis didn't have to be a disaster, what if it was an exodus? Of all the explanations for Magic, the remnant technology of some lost, advanced civilization that had abandoned the Earth for... something... was one of the more plausible ones.

"So, I have another hunch I want to test out. Where you're from, is it called Atlantis?"

Rainbow Dash stroked her chin thoughtfully. "Yeah, I guess."

 _Rainbow Dash and her friends come from Atlantis: 92%.  
_ _Rainbow Dash and her friends are from outer space: 22%.  
_ _Rainbow Dash is just messing with me: 6%._

Rainbow Dash continued, "I mean, that's an old name. Like a really, really old name. But that's what they used to call where I'm from."

"What do they call it now?"

"Equestria."

"Ah, I get the pony euphemism now."

"Huh?"

"You all are 'Equestrians'... people who ride... oh, never mind. Ok, so I think I've worked most of it out. But you said something about vacancies. Is that, er... I'm assuming that means when somebody dies."

"Yeah, sure. But I mean how often does THAT happen?"

"Every day?"

"That's not funny."

"What?"

She slowed down, as she could see that Harry was quite plainly not kidding around. In fact, he looked confused. "How often do people…" She worked her mouth around the question "... How often do people die here?"

"Here? Not often. Well, _too_ often," Harry shrugged, bitterly. "But if we're talking about the whole world, and not just here in this castle, then all the time. Probably two or three every second. "

She hung stock still in mid-air, mouth agape. "Two or three every… Second? "

"Sadly, yes."

She didn't move from her position in the air. "How… How do you even live like that? I mean, in the entire time I've been around, I've only heard of one person who... Wait. You don't really mean _die_ , die. You just mean, well what do you mean?"

"Yes, _die_ , die. As in, everything they are and everything they were, gone."

"If this is some kind of prank, you're pretty sick."

"Why on Earth would I joke about this?"

"I don't know. I really hope you are, but you don't sound like you're kidding. "

Something about the genuinely horrified, shocked, stupefied look on her face hit Harry on a visceral level. It was the kind of reaction that someone couldn't fake, or pretend. The absolute horror, the revulsion at the thought of people dying with such sickening frequency. It was written all over her face end it made Harry feel a very deep, very real connection with her.

She was scrutinizing him the same way. Reading his face, seeing if he was kidding, just making a tasteless joke. When she realized he wasn't, that he was dead serious, and masking a seething rage at the very thought of it, she was hit with another wave of emotion. Not the sickening anger of before, but pity, deep overwhelming pity for this boy, this baby in front of her who was subject to, and would likely continue to be subjected to the most unimaginable horror.

Without really thinking about it, she sped her broom towards him and locked her arms around him in a tight hug and patted his back. "I'm sorry."

The cheers and whoops from the students gathered far below were a dim afterthought in Harry's mind. As he returned a hug. "What is it with you people and your tear-inducing hugs?"

"Yeah, that happens a lot. You get used to it." She gave him an irreverent punch on the arm.

Given that Harry didn't have much experience with heartfelt physical displays of emotion, he wasn't quite sure how he was supposed to end things. So he let his arms dangle limply to his sides and gave her an awkward half-wave, half-salute. She cocked her head and laughed at him.

"You're, uh, not very good at this whole 'hug' thing, are you?"

Harry mumbled something unintelligible, then regained his composure. "So you live in this post-scarcity world, huh? And death is... a distant memory, but still there."

Rainbow Dash nodded.

"I have a little... experiment, that I'd like to do. I'm not sure why, but I feel like this is something important."

"Uh, okay."

"But you have to trust me, okay? It might be scary, but you're going to be safe."

"You sound like Applejack. And, 'scary'?" She scoffed at him. "I eat 'scary' for breakfast."

"Good. Now, follow me, we need to go somewhere that people won't be able to see what we're doing."

* * *

 _Meanwhile_  
 _Down on the ground_

"It's indecent. Inappropriate. And more importantly, it's not fair!" Roger Davies fumed in the general direction of Oliver Wood and Nymphadora Tonks, the few remaining people in the now-dispersed crowd, neither of whom paid him much mind. "He's a firstie! He's eleven! Does he even... you know?"

Tonks rolled her eyes heavily, and Oliver Wood was steadfastly pretending to be thoroughly engrossed in the trimming of his broom's tail twigs. A few other Slytherin quidditch players were watching the unlikely pair up in the sky, trying to track down where they were headed.

"Oi! Wood!" Davies slapped the front of Wood's broom.

"What is it, Davies?"

"I said, does... he... even..." He arched his eyebrows deliberately.

"That's creepy."

Roger clapped his hands together. "Right? Right? See, Nymphadora? Wood agrees. It's creepy."

"That's not even worthy of a 'Don't call me Nymphadora'." Tonks hurled a studded wristband at Davies' head to punctuate her point, forcing him to contort his body to deflect the projectile. "You're the creepy one. You already scared off Ashley Bahl. And you're about to scare me off too."

Wood nodded. "She's right. Just come off it, man. You're embarrassing yourself."

"You're the embarrassing one!"

Wood had finished tidying his broom up by this point and extended his hand to Tonks, who was still sitting on the grass. She hopped up onto her feet and put her hand around Wood's waist as they started to walk away.

"See ya later, blister in the sun," she waved at Davies, without turning back to look at him.

"I don't know what that means!" He shouted back at her, alone now on the common, watching Wood and Tonks walk off towards the castle.

"Can't say I blame him, though." Tonks grinned at Wood. "Good for Potter, eh?"

"This is my lot in life. I'm surrounded by ridiculous people." Wood sighed.

"Don't pretend you don't love it," She gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "See you in Charms, broom-boy."

* * *

 _Meanwhile  
_ _Azkaban_

The Dementor wafted gently back and forth amidst the seemingly perpetual torrents of rain. It floated as lazily as a concrete representation of an abstract pattern could float; there were no expectations to guide it besides the vague, disconnected obligation to the oligarchs of Britain and the Aurors who enforced their will. The Aurors did not know the exact location of this Dementor, only that it was supposed to be guarding the perimeter. As such, it was listless, with little purpose other than to simply exist, despite the fact that it had no existence in and of itself. It was a being composed solely of negative space, defined purely by the absence of life, an Escher painting made concrete.

Long before the era of Harry James Potter-Evans-Verres, the 15th century magical scholar, Phillipus Aureolus Theophrastus Bombastus von Hohenheim was credited with, among other things, discovering and proving conclusive means of slaying a dementor: the complete and utter extermination of life. Indeed, it was a popular theory at the time that the ancient Atlanteans had fled from this world because it had become overcome with the Specters of Death, and only by destroying the world could they truly save it. As it were, there was about as much truth behind that origin story as there was behind the theory that Atlanteans were interstellar travelers.

But as it stood, no one had managed to provide a demonstration of Paracelsus' conjecture. And as with many magical truths, the knowledge of it faded from the minds of the wizened over the centuries, until it was replaced with daft, but comforting superstition. The Dementors, responding to the shift in perception and expectation, obliged through no volition of their own.

When the violently pulsating light pierced the waves of rainfall, a new set of expectations, a new perspective took precedent over all others.

And the Dementor cowered.

 _Leave us... Please._

 _NO._

 _Leave us... it is our nature. Do not wish it, but cannot cease._

 _COME._

 _Leave us..._

 _COME, OR END._

There was no conflict of expectations, there could be none. The Patronus that stood before it could brook no compromise, it would accept nothing less than complete and total dominance over the cowering wretch before it. In any compromise between good and evil, it is only death that can win, and so there was no compromise. It submitted itself fully and entirely, shrugging off the bonds that kept it within the confines of Azkaban and sped off into the distance, a specter of Death following its Master.

* * *

 _Moments Later  
The Black Lake_

"Okay, so remember what I said... you're going to be safe, even though it might be scary. Well, no, it will be scary. Really, really scary. But I want you to tell me exactly what you see."

Rainbow Dash was gawking at the hooded, black-cloaked figure that was cowering in fear at the edge of the lake. "He doesn't look that scary. In fact, I think he's more scared of us..."

"Don't let that deceive you. This... _thing_ is..." Harry was internally debating whether it would make more sense to explain the nature of the Dementor to Rainbow Dash, or to let her come to the conclusion on her own.

Rainbow Dash stuck a finger up to her lips and shooshed him. "Shhh. Don't ruin the surprise."

Harry shrugged at her. His Patronus was lurking in the trees, out of sight of Rainbow Dash, but keeping firmly in the light of sight of the cowering Dementor.

 _STAND_ , it commanded.

Visibly shuddering, the Dementor rose and turned towards Rainbow Dash.

"So, I just... what, look at it?"

Harry nodded, gravely.

"Okay, here I go," she said skeptically, taking a few steps forward, completely unaware as to the nature of the hole in the world before her. She stretched her hand out to touch the hood of the cloak, gently pulling it away from the creature.

And then the world went mad.


	8. Have You Heard, Part 1

"Hateful Prism," Applejack drawled, the skepticism practically dripping from her words.

"That's what I said!" Rainbow Dash retorted.

Applejack crossed her arms as she looked around at the ivy-covered columns. "Are you sure you're being honest? That all sounds a bit... dramatic."

"Sure, but isn't everything that happens to us 'dramatic'?"

"Fair point," Applejack shrugged. "So, she threw off her cloak, grew wings, and floated up in the air?"

"Yep. And she looked mostly like I do now. So, pretty cool. But with more eye makeup and dangly jewelry. And her hair was longer. Oh, and she had wings. Did I mention she had wings?"

"About five times."

"So, she starts going into this spiel about how she is my dark reflection, the symbol of all my wasted potential, everything I could have been if I hadn't been held down..."

Applejack cocked her eyebrow, "Held down?"

Rainbow Dash waved off the concern. "Yeah, it was just another one of those, 'let me try to tempt you with dark magic more powerful than friendship' sort of things."

Applejack had to stifle a giggle. "And was it... tempting?"

"Oh, sure." Rainbow Dash oozed with false sincerity. "It told me I could have saved the world, been a hero to everyone. But instead, I chose to waste all of that on you," she barked out a coarse laugh. "It's like she thought I was Twilight or something. She should have known that I'm awesome enough to do both."

Applejack held her chin in her hand as she considered this. "So what happened next?"

Rainbow Dash shrugged. "Oh, the usual. I gave it a speech about friendship and why it's more important to love what you have than to focus on what might be." She moved her hands up and down in the universal 'blah blah blah' gesture. "Then my eyes went all glowy, I grew wings and some pony ears and a tail... Then I did whatever I imagine a Sonic Rainboom is here in this place." She planted her hands on her hips in satisfaction. "Then I blasted her to pieces."

"Sounds about right," Applejack remarked, completely unfazed by the bizarre turn of events.

"All that was left was a tattered black cloak, which Harry rolled up into a ball and threw into the lake. I can't believe he thought that thing was scary!"

"Wait a minute, are you saying he watched this whole thing?"

"Well yeah, it was all his idea in the first place. "

"You don't think… that maybe you weren't the one this 'Hateful Prism' was trying to tempt?"

Rainbow Dash gave this some serious thought. "Well, now that you bring it up, Harry did seem to be really frazzled by the whole thing. But then again, I get the sense that things are a bit more… boring here in this world than in Equestria."

Applejack nodded vigorously. "Ain't that the truth. You should see what they call 'farming' here. I mean, they literally put seeds into the ground, and then just wait for them to grow. Organically. Can you believe that?"

"You mean, it's not just a… What do you call it again?" Rainbow's eyes widened.

"An abstraction layer? Nope! Just literal seeds, dirt, and time. Now, I'm not opposed to hard work and patience, but it's got to be _smart_ work, know what I mean? Imagine if y'all Pegasi literally _moved physical clouds with your wings_ to make the weather!"

They both laughed together. "Can you imagine? So how do they even decide the weather here?"

"Beats the applesauce out of me. I think they just leave it up to chance."

"Ha! No wonder Discord loves it here."

"Well, that's what I don't really get. Discord said he doesn't have anywhere as much power here as he does in Equestria. But it seems like they leave a lot more up to chance here. Their food, the weather, even their foals, or babies, or whatever they call those things, here."

"Oh, Believe me, I heard all about it from Harry. Here's what kind of creepy about this place. It's like they leave... their whole lives up to chance." Applejack arched an eyebrow and Rainbow Dash leaned in close. "You know what he told me about this place? He told me that people die every _second_. Every second. Can you believe that?"

Applejack felt a hot wave of revulsion. "Rainbow, I know you wouldn't be pulling my leg about something like this…" Although it was a statement, it really was more of a plea than anything, begging her friend to admit it was just nothing more than a tasteless joke. "No... That's... That's horrible."

"That's what I said! But that's what made him summon that... whatever it was, the 'Dementor'. He told me that they were holes in the world, the primordial embodiment of Death, and told me what they do to people... make them relive their worst memories. I told him that sounds more like Fear than Death. But he was pretttttttty sure. Anyway, here's the crazy thing. When I first saw it, I couldn't see anything. But I knew something was supposed to be there, I could feel it. It was almost like… Like..."

"Like you had forgotten what it was supposed to look like?" Applejack provided.

"Yeah! Like it was on the tip of my tongue… Or… My eyes. You know what I mean. And then, well he asked me what I saw. And it wasn't until I tried to describe it that she, you know, 'Hateful Prism', popped out." Rainbow Dash flopped herself down onto the cool tile of the dilapidated structure in the Forbidden Forest. "You know, I miss Twilight. If she were here, she probably pulls out a book and says something like, 'According to the second book in the Horse Tack Materials trilogy, these sound a lot like the creatures that haunted Citagazze', and then that would be some kind of clue or something."

"Yeah, I miss her too." Applejack nodded, but then suddenly whipped her head around. "What's that noise?"

They both squinted their eyes and peered through the trees in the forest. They could see two figures skulking their way from tree to tree, one holding a compass in her hand and the other holding his wand out projecting some sort of translucent shield. They couldn't tell whose team they were on, so they didn't call attention to themselves.

"So this game, huh?" Applejack cracked a grin as she whispered. "You figure it out yet?"

"Um, yeah! I figured it out two minutes after that creepy teacher told us the rules!"

"Seems pretty easy if you ask me but… Things are different here, I guess. You think Harry will figure it out?"

Rainbow Dash gave this some serious thought. "I don't know. He doesn't really seem like he's that good at making friends but… he reminds me a lot of Twilight. Obsessed with books, and just a bit rough around the edges. And look at her now, Princess of Friendship."

Applejack nudged her friend with a playful elbow. "You thinking he's gonna be a Prince of Friendship?"

Rainbow Dash laughed. "Stranger things have happened."

"Ain't that the truth."

"You know, he's got a little bit of each of us in him. The way he was describing that Dementoid, he said it affected him worse than anyone because 'it was almost physically impossible for him to flinch away from the truth'."

Applejack pursed her lips. "I dunno, usually people who have to tell you how honest they are don't exactly tend to be the most trustworthy."

"Well, that's the thing, he wasn't trying to brag about it. He was trying to make a point about how terrible those things were. It kind of reminded me of Pinkie a bit, with how intense he was. But with that creepy Fluttershy dark side. And he doesn't really think about much besides saving his friend... If that's not generosity, I don't know what is."

"You know, you've checked almost all the boxes... but you seem to be missing someone." Applejack gave Rainbow a sly grin.

"Yeah. I know. We... well, we had a moment."

"Oooooooooooo. Well, look at you, Rainbow Dash!" She laughed as she punched her on the shoulder.

Rainbow Dash laughed and rolled her eyes. "You know it's not like that. Besides, he's literally a baby. He says he's 11 years old."

"You sure that's not one of those 'I call it a year, you call it a season' sort of things?"

"Maybe. Probably. I can't quite figure out how time is supposed to work here. I mean, we've only been here a few days, but it feels like a whole year has gone by." Rainbow Dash squinted her eyes and looked up at the sun.

"I'd say it feels more like eleven months, three weeks and two days, but who's counting?"

Rainbow Dash didn't seem to register what her friend had said. "Say, AJ, how much do you remember about... You know, before."

"Hmm. Same as you, I expect. Not much." she shrugged and looked at Rainbow Dash. "You?"

Rainbow Dash stared off into the distance, "Yeah. Not much."

Applejack chuckled. "That had to be the most convincing 'Not much' I've heard in my life."

Rainbow Dash nodded without smiling. "I remember… I remember, being dead, you know? Just… Sort of… _Being_. For, I don't know how long. Existing without anything to really exist with. And I had this kind of feeling, this memory of who I was supposed to be. Then, I just sort of… You know… Woke up."

Applejack nodded, having recalled a similar experience herself.

"And, ever since then, it's always kind of been in the back of my head that, well, I beat Death once. Who's to say I can't do it again?"

Applejack was now shaking her head slightly. "I don't know there, Dash. I mean, if you remember it, then, well, you aren't really dead, are you? I mean, dead means… Gone. Forever."

"I know, I know. But you felt it too, didn't you? You know it was different. It wasn't like being asleep or knocked out. It was like… Well, it was like being dead."

"Uh huh," Applejack said with a hint of skeptical criticism in her voice. "And how do you know what that feels like?"

"I just told you, because... Oh." Her own use of circular logic just dawned on her.

"Look, Dash. Just 'cause something don't taste like an apple, that don't make it an orange."

The corners of Rainbow Dash's eyes wrinkled, belying just the slightest hint of distress. "But… How can you really believe that?"

"There ain't nothing to believe. You don't _believe_ the truth. It just is. The sky is blue. You can believe all you want that it's red but that ain't going to change much."

"It's funny you say that. You know, Discord once told me… Well, I guess he _asked_ me: if the whole world believed the sky was red, would it matter if the sky was actually blue?"

Applejack thought about this. "You know, I got a lot to say about that. I mean, for one, you know as well as I do that Discord plays by different rules. Half the time, what he's talking about ain't what he's actually saying, and the other half the time, he doesn't have any reason for saying what is saying. And besides, if everyone said the sky was red, that would just mean everyone was using different words to say the same thing. It's like if everyone started calling south 'north', and north 'south'. If someone gave you directions, you'd still find your way, all the same."

Rainbow Dash was nodding vigorously in agreement. "That's just what I said! But then he told me, that wasn't what he meant, and that I knew it wasn't what he meant, and that I was just being difficult. So to teach me a lesson, he did some trick so that everyone thought my coat was red for a day. I was the only one who thought it was blue!"

"I remember that! But see, that's just what I mean. He plays by different rules, only Discord could pull a joke like that. Doesn't really tell us much, doesn't really tell us anything at all besides the fact that Discord likes to stir up trouble every now and then."

"Sure, but… If that's really how you think things are… How do you do all this? "She gestured her hands all around. "A lot of the stuff we do, actually most of the stuff we do is really kind of dangerous when you think about it. Like, really dangerous. If you didn't think, somewhere in the back your head that you had a safety net…" Rainbow Dash suddenly had a very crestfallen look on her face and didn't speak for some time.

"Let me guess. You're thinking the only reason you're brave is 'cause you've been telling yourself that you'll have a second chance if things go wrong? "

Rainbow Dash nodded glumly. "And that's not really… Bravery at all, is it?"

Applejack rolled her eyes. "What do you think bravery is, Dash? Being stupid? Taking chances just for the sake of taking chances?"

Rainbow Dash gave a dejected shrug and Applejack continued. "It's fighting for something bigger than just you. It's being willing to take that chance, to make that sacrifice. Tell me, if you had to make the choice, right here, right now. You, or the five of us. Gone, forever. I'm not talking about falling asleep for a long time, or I'm not talking about your mind just drifting between the worlds while you wait for a new body. I'm talking dead, gone."

With no hesitation whatsoever, Rainbow Dash replied, "I'd pick you all. Even if I had to choose between my life and just yours. There's no question."

Applejack gave her a gentle pat on the back. "See? Now that's bravery. And you know what? We'd make the same choice for you too. It's just that we all just have different ways of… You know… Coping with that. With death. For you, you said you feel like you beat death once so why couldn't you do it again? But it wasn't really _you_ that beat death now, was it? See, what you're really saying here is, you trust your friends so much that you honestly believe, down in your heart of hearts, that no matter what happens, no matter how lost you get, your friends would fight for you and you'd fight for them. If that's not loyalty, I don't know what it is.

"And me, well I'm an Apple. I face my problems head-on. I know that it's there, I know it's a possibility. But there's power in that, you know? By accepting the truth, it gives me the power to act on it. And Fluttershy, well, she's a healer at heart. Kindness, healing, life… Those things are kind of the opposite of death, aren't they? She's a warrior, out there on the front lines of the fight."

Rainbow Dash smiled, feeling just a little bit better. "She's a warrior, all right. You know what they say, if you know how to heal, you know how to hurt."

Applejack shuddered a bit but nodded. "Ain't that the truth. And Rarity, well, you know she and I don't always see eye to eye, but I tell you what, she makes it for darn sure that we have something that's worth fighting for, something beautiful…" She twisted her voice into a good-natured mockery of Rarity's inflection, "Something _glamorous, darling_. And Pinkie, well, sometimes I don't blame her for just leaning in and embracing the crazy. I mean if we're being honest, this all _is_ just a little bit crazy. I mean, we're walking, talking ponies for Faust's sake!"

A sudden rustling in the nearby trees silenced them both, quickly. The two figures were close enough to where she could make out his face: it was Harry. She let out a whispered yell to get his attention.

Harry whipped his head around in their direction and stared at the tree line behind them. He looked over to his companion and nodded his head towards them. The way he was acting, it was like he was being followed. Or maybe, he was doing the following. Quickly, Harry and his companion ran from tree to tree, using the greenery as cover. After a few minutes of sneaking, they finally reached the structure that until they reached the structure that Rainbow Dash and Applejack had been confined to.

" _Hey kid, I'm a computer_ ," Harry spoke in a voice distinctly not his own.

Applejack gave a sidelong glance to Rainbow Dash.

Harry waved his hand back and forth. " _Stop all the downloadin'!_ "

Rainbow Dash rolled her eyes. "He's forgotten already, hasn't he? Maybe I gave him too much credit."

Harry shook his head and frustration and let out a long garbled stream of synthesized, computerized noise. His classmate who had now caught up, a wispy blonde little Hufflepuff first year that Applejack recognized as Angela Ziegler. She spoke in a voice that seemed far too low of a register for her diminutive frame.

" _Who wants a body massage?_ "

Harry looked off another direction sharply, listening intently. Rainbow Dash leaned in and she could hear the noise as well. Footfall, and lots of it. It was coming from the direction of the clearing opposite them.

With sudden urgency in his movement, Harry charged forward. Angela followed a few meters behind, with a bright golden tether of light emanating from her wand having attached itself to Harry. She was saying something as she ran... No, was she singing?

" _Low, eee ohh, Mr. Body Massage Machine-GO!_ "

There was a sense of strange desperation in Harry's movement. His companion followed swiftly thereafter and the noise of the footfalls grew louder as he closed the distance to the clearing. Just as Harry reached the edge, Applejack and Rainbow Dash could see a large group of students emerge, led by a boy with a pointed face and slick, platinum blonde hair.

With one final effort, Harry charged forward, holding his wand as if it were a hammer and then shouted in his own voice, " _Malleus Descendum!_ "

Harry was propelled forward with unnatural speed, and when his wand connected with the ground, a shockwave was sent towards the group of other students. When it hit them, they were all swept off their feet and Angela came charging in afterward, holding her wand high in the air and yelled, in a voice much more appropriate for someone her size, " _Helden Sterben Nicht!_ "

The battlefield was bathed in a blinding, golden light.

* * *

 _Earlier_

Draco Malfoy was finding it particularly difficult to research the mystery of Hermione's death. He had staggered into the Slytherin common room carrying what must have been a dozen books. Normally, Crabbe and Goyle would have been close behind, carrying another dozen themselves. But, Draco had them busy collecting intelligence on "Plain Jane".

The name was clearly a pseudonym, and the circumstances of their arrival were suspect in the highest. That alone would have called for a cursory amount of research, and stymied as they were by the complete lack of conclusive information, Draco likely would have called things off. But Draco was both intrigued and concerned by the way that the older Slytherins were either transparently obsequious or gave her a very wide berth, causing the majority of Slytherin House to follow suit.

Nobody seemed willing to actually talk about the subject, but from what Draco could piece together from the tittles and jots of various snippets of conversation and oblique references, there had been some sort of _incident_ involving Reese Belka, a first year, and a dark hallway. "Plain Jane" had apparently interceded in some way, although the nature of the intercession was entirely unclear.

What was clear, however, was that Reese Belka made it conspicuously sure from that point on to never be present in the same room as the pink haired newcomer.

The whole thing stank to Merlin of Potter. Of course, the fact that Potter had apparently become quite friendly with "Tisiphone" and "Megaera" only furthered the suspicion. Those would likely be pseudonyms as well. Draco's father had seen to it that he was well studied in all things related to wizardkind. And because so many of the ancient Muggle myths had their roots in Magical phenomenon, he was familiar with the legends of the ancient world, including The Furies, The Kindly Ones, The Eumenides, The Erinyes: Tisiphone, Megaera, and Alecto.

Wizard families often got cute with the symbolism behind their names. But a trio? Draco knew that his mother and father had been trying for some time to produce an heir before Draco was born, an exercise which clearly at one point resulted in heartbreak: one day when Draco was seven, he was examining the sculptures on the Malfoy family Oblatorium and noticed one that was smaller than all the rest. A small, blue, green and yellow striped bonbon, still in its wrapper was mounted lovingly between Mother's golden harp and the empty plaque that represented himself. He had asked Father who that was, and the elder Malfoy replied in a shaky voice that he would tell him Draco when he was older, when he could understand.

Draco could not quite remember how old he was when the comprehension of its meaning dawned upon him, but he never asked his father about it again.

Their story was not an uncommon one either. Not every family was as sloppily fertile as the Weasleys. In fact, most weren't. Having three children wasn't exactly rare, but it was hardly something that you could count on, certainly not enough to feel comfortable giving two children names out of an obvious trio. If the third never materialized, it would be a living testament to your family's failure to perpetuate the blood of Atlantis.

There were certainly a good many reasons _not_ to be skeptical of their names. He tried to think like Harry taught him to. He asked himself, what the "prior probability" of a family naming their children after a trio like this, versus the probability that a trio of witches was using assumed names, and he determined the latter was more likely.

Had Harry been there, he would have pointed out that Draco had misunderstood and misapplied the principles of Bayesian reasoning. He also would've pointed out that Rationality is about winning, and that Draco's conclusion was the correct one, regardless of how he came to. But as it were, Draco was unsure of the certainty of either of those truths.

And so it was that Crabbe and Goyle were putting together their considerable lack of wit to the task of investigation, rather than to one which they would likely be more suited: hauling heavy objects.

Having grown frustrated with the lack of progress into his investigation of Hermione, he decided instead to look further into the mystery of Plain Jane himself. He knew that one of the older Slytherins had offered the use of their private quarters and so that considerably narrowed down the possibilities of where he could find her. If this girl was, indeed, going to be the next queen of Slytherin, Draco Malfoy would make sure that he was, at minimum, on her radar.

Two of the three most lavishly appointed rooms had their doors open, their occupants sitting at desks writing letters or reading books. The third office, which belonged to Robert Jugson, was closed. He drew in a breath, held his shoulders high, and rapped on the door. Authoritatively, but not too assertive. His father had taught him the art of knocking in such a way as to communicate, _I am coming into this room, and it is only by my forbearance that I am alerting you to this fact beforehand._

"Come in!" A delicate, soft voice called from behind the finally inlaid, heavy oak door.

Draco opened it and was immediately taken aback by what he saw. The bed and desk has been pushed aside to one wall, and the wall containing the window was lined with… were those… Nests? A family of baby rabbits had cozied up into a small bed of straw and a few fat blue jays were twittering around, keeping close to her, until one landed on her finger. Meanwhile, an Abyssinian cat with spectacularly red fur slinked around, its tail weaving in and out between her legs.

But what shocked him the most was that, coiled around her arm, was a powerful, glistening snake, banded with bluish black rings starkly contrasting the white body. He would recognize that snake anywhere, the snake that his Patronus was formed after.

A Blue Krait. What she held in her hands was obscenely dangerous.

And she was _talking_ to it.

Not words, but breathy hisses,

 _Sweet slithering snakes, she was a Parseltongue._

"Pardon me Madame Plein but…" He had to interrupt his own formal greeting. "Are you quite sure that you want to be holding that snake? I'm not sure if you realize how dangerous it is."

She let out a small giggle. "Oh, this little guy? He wouldn't hurt a fly." She gently crouched down to the ground. Her voice was so soft and yet he could clearly hear every word she said. Except, that is, when she whispered in Parseltongue to the snake, who then uncoiled himself from her arm, and began slithering towards Draco. "See? He's just friendly."

Draco now understood why the whole of Slytherin house was terrified of her. She played the game perfectly. There is no rudeness, no insult behind her failure to return his greeting, for he had not actually greeted her. And now, here he was, scared stiff, plain as day, and faced with an awful choice: put himself in mortal danger, or insult a verified Parselmouth by doubting her control over her thralls.

 _If you don't like the rules, play a different game_ , Father had always told him. He would not stand here, shaking in fear as she asserted her dominance over him. Contrary to every bit of common sense in him, he changed the rules, kneeled down, and held his hand out to the approaching snake.

"Forgive my rudeness, Madame Plein. I am Draco, eldest heir of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Malfoy, son of Lucius the Younger, son of Abraxas, descendant of Armand," The honorifics were an ancient, almost forgotten tradition among Slytherins, although not forgotten among those families whose bloodlines truly mattered. The guest would introduce themselves, their house, their lineage. The host would then send forth the serpent of the house to greet the guest, at which point you inquired as to its name, "And how shall I address this most honored, most august Blue Krait that defends your house?"

"Oh him? His name is Nathaniel, but his friends just call him Nate."

He bowed deeply to the snake as per tradition. He did not have a snake of his own, at least not a physical one, so he pointed his wand at the ground and whispered, " _Expecto Patronum_ ". His own Krait, made of gossamer strands of ephemeral silk, emerged from his wand and approached its physical counterpart.

"Greetings, Nathaniel," Draco moved his eyes up to his owner. "And what house does he serve?"

She had followed all the customs up until this point. Maybe this was a test? Maybe she would only reveal her true identity to someone well-versed in the ancient customs in the ancient ways. She cocked her head, and Draco eagerly awaited her response.

"Oh, my name is Fluttershy."

"Uh... what?" Draco was thoroughly nonplussed and replied without thinking.

"Fluttershy," she said, only slightly louder. "It's lovely to meet you. Your snake is so beautiful. I think he and Nate will make great friends. Isn't that right Nate?" In a thoroughly undignified manner, she got down on her knees and held her arms outstretched, at which point the Blue Krait quickly slithered over and snuggled up in her arms. She stroked his head, made some cooing noises and spoke to it in English, "You're just a shy little guy, aren't you? It was so brave of you to leave your lever and go meet a stranger. You're a brave little one, yes you are!"

That… That was not according to the tradition. That was not… That wasn't anything at all. _What was that, even?_

She turned to him. "It's very nice to meet you Draco Malfoy. Was there anything I could help you with?" She asked in an eager voice.

If Draco had not been thoroughly on edge, he would actually think that she sounded… Sincere. What was she playing at? What was her angle?

"I was… Well, I had heard some rumors… About a certain incident in the hallway involving an older student… And a younger student…"

She looked up, as if in thought, and then it struck her. "Oh yes, I remember that. There was an older girl who was being very unfriendly."

"And… What did you do?"

"Oh, I just talked to her."

"You just… Talked to her. That's it."

She gave him a soft nod, and let out a quiet "Mh hmm," in affirmation.

"I don't mean to pry, but… Reese Belka hasn't been the same since you 'just talked to her'. Are you sure that's all you did?"

She smiled, serenely. "Oh yes. My friend said that I can be very… Persuasive, when I want to be."

She looked at his eyes when she spoke, and on the word "persuasive", her voice took on an ever so slight, almost undetectable edge to it. But what startled Draco more was the brief flash across her eyes; he had seen that look, before. It was the look Harry had when he went to his dark place. It lasted but for a fraction of a second, and disappeared.

 _I can only handle one Potter._ Draco thought to himself.

He was spared the dilemma of how to respond to her remark by the sudden din of noise from the hallways. Millicent Bulstrode came charging gamely from the Slytherin common room shouting, "DOOMED! We are doomed, we're all doomed!"

Draco stepped out of Fluttershy's room briefly to look at the source of the commotion. He could hear her clearly from where he stood. " _It's Professor Quirrell!_ "

A sudden air of attentiveness, as of long-standing disputes about to be settled. "Well, finally," someone said, as Millicent tried to catch her breath. "He's only got, what, a few days left to go bad?"

"Two days," said the seventh-year who was running the betting pool.

"He's gotten a lot better suddenly and he's going to summon the first-years for our Defense final! By surprise! In fifty minutes! "

Blaise Zabini rolled her eyes and went back to his reading. "Exams are over. We already got our marks back,"

"He got special dispensation from the Ministry to give a final exam late!"

"A Defense final?" Pansy said blankly. "But Professor Quirrell doesn't give exams."

" _It's a battle!_ "

Zabini was suddenly interested, again. "But, what about Miss Granger?"

"Granger? Who cares about that Mudbloo-" Pansy's words were cut off by a percussive smack to the back of her head, delivered by Reese Belka, who looked paler than usual.

"Have respect, Parkinson!"

Draco was already slowly backing out of Fluttershy's room, and was about to break into a run before he turned back to the pink haired girl and quickly said, "It was a pleasure to meet you, Madame Shy, but I must be going, now."


	9. The Voyage

_Los Angeles  
_ _Hours Earlier_ _  
_

Scott Parajsa looked out over the top of his hands at the large, dark-skinned man across from him, the last dying rays of the sun's struggle reflecting off the man's shaved head. He finished the last bits of his pointlessly expensive steak made from a variant of the Japanese Polled, bred only in a small farm outside Iwakuni in the Yamaguchi prefecture of Japan. His Hanzo-made steak knife, which would have cut through a piece of toughened leather as though it were no more than fog, was purely ornamental: a dry twig could have cut this meat.

A briefcase was chained to the man's wrist with an impressively thick handcuff. The case was nondescript, a fitting receptacle for the object of near-infinite power within, as true power needs to ornamentation. The man adjusted the numbers of the combination lock to the appropriate sequence: 666. He slid the box over the rich, lacquered-oak desk, and Parajsa took it, opening the case slightly. The man knew better than to look at its contents; it was rumored that death befell anyone who laid eyes upon it. He contented himself with observing the pleasant orange glow illuminating the olive-skinned face of the man sitting across from him. Parajsa gave an appraising nod, and with a lazy wave, caused the case to close and the handcuff to fall away from the man's wrist.

"Last time I heard, Lasombra, you were off on a beach somewhere in Santiago. What brings you back to Los Angeles?"

Scott Parajsa, or, 'Lasombra', as he was known these days (he had to admit, it was a catchier, more menacing nickname. And more accurate, to boot), inclined his head towards the suitcase.

"I'm here for that, Mr. Wallace. And, it was actually Tahiti, this time."

"How as it?"

"It's a magical place," he cocked an eyebrow at Mr. Wallace. "How about you? You look like you've been through hell and back."

Mr. Wallace broke into a wide grin. "Do I look like a bitch? Yeah, I've been through hell and back. But I looked Satan in the eyes and made sure to send him a message, loud and clear." He tossed Parajsa an orange latex ball, "You can have this, too. I don't think I'll be needing it anymore."

Parajsa caught the ball deftly and examined it. He had an inkling of an idea as to what it had been used for, "To hell and back, indeed," he spoke while he squashed the ball gently between his two fingers. He placed it down on his desk and walked slowly to the impressive glass cabinet behind him. The contents were protected by something far more effective than mundane technology, but nonetheless, he pressed his palm against the glass. Green light danced up and down across it, reading the unique patterns of his handprint. A low chime indicated a successful reading, and he tapped his fingers in a distinct pattern to disengage the final portion of the physical locks.

Bach's Partita, No. 1, if anyone cared to observe him. No one did.

As he did so, he whispered a few words in a long-dead language to disable the true protection, and the door silently swung open. He removed the small decanter from the cabinet, along with two limited edition, ornately carved Steuben glasses, walking them over to his desk. He poured a measure of the deep, ruddy liquid into each of the glasses. Even standing a fair distance away, Wallace could smell the sweet, aromatic vapors wafting from the rim.

Parajsa handed one of the glasses to Mr. Wallace, inclined his head, and spoke in a brief toast: "To good health." They clinked glasses and downed the liquid in a single gulp. Mr. Wallace, who had not yet had centuries to become accustomed to the effect, visibly shuddered as the warm glow of pleasure worked its way from the pit of his stomach to his extremities. He worked the muscles in his face a bit, and felt as the trace wrinkles he had developed during his last excursion smoothed themselves out, and the fresh wounds on his face stitched themselves together.

He began to pour another measure into his own glass and handed it to Wallace. "For Mia. You can keep the glass. Consider it an anniversary present."

Marcellus Wallace nodded. "Always a pleasure, Lasombra."

"Likewise, Mr. Wallace."

* * *

Sombra had no need to worry about running out of the Elixir of Life; he was of Atlantean blood, true Atlantean blood, one of the first. He did not need to resort to petty parlor tricks to achieve something as mean and simple as immortality in this form. On the other hand, these mortal men, their bodies were so frail and squishy. He did, of course, share a common ancestry with them, in the same sense than an ornate oaken temple shared a common ancestry with an acorn.

He could have stockpiled all the gold and jewels in the world with the Element of Honesty that he once possessed. It went by many names in this world: The Mightstone, the Stone of Truth, the Philosopher's Stone… But life was the only true scarcity here. And as such, an elixir that granted eternal life was a far more useful currency among those of superlative power and influence and ran no risk of depreciating in value after centuries of repeated use. There was no reason, after all, to spend his banishment in squalor.

Even if he had not been of Atlantean blood, he had no need to worry. The elixir itself was nothing more than a marker. Razzle-dazzle. Parlor tricks. The real mechanism was fairly simple and somewhat mundane: an army of miniscule automatons, designed to repair damaged cells, identify and destroy any unwanted foreign intrusions, and then tack on some telomeres for good measure. They possessed the capacity to self-replicate at his command, should the need arise.

It took him a century or two to write the blueprint for the machine and hold the entirety of it in his mind. With the power of the Philosopher's Stone, all it took was a single transfiguration to commit the device to physical reality. Its capacity for self-replication took care of the rest.

With an endless supply of the most valuable resource known to man, and no desire to change this world for the better, he had little need for the Philosopher's Stone. So he had no problem handing to over to someone who would have more use for it. When Adagio and her sisters were banished to this world, he sought them out and passed the stone to them. He held a great deal of sympathy for them; they only wanted the same thing as he did: adoration, love. They wanted it from the many, whereas for him, there was only enough room for one sun in his sky.

All the same, they found that for all the Stone could do, it could not grant them what they desired. So they too gave away the Stone. At that time, they went under the guise of the tripartite goddess, Baba Yaga, and passed it on to a little mortal girl, Perenelle Du Marais.

Objectively, Sombra knew that it has been a tremendously long time since he had come here. It didn't feel like a thousand years, though. It was in the past, for sure, but it occupied the same space in his mind as events too distant to be considered recent, but not so long ago as to have been abstracted away into the mere essence of memory. Or maybe, he had just grown accustomed to every memory being like that. He knew that the mind was finite, and had no real idea how many memories one could store without having to throw old ones away.

He emerged at first in what is now Greenland; it was a desolate, frigid place, but it reminded him of home. At first, he thought to rebuild his empire on a new world, but as the years stretched on and he strode alone through the towering crystalline structures of ice and rock, the whole exercise seemed hollow, unimportant, trivial.

As he wandered the world, he heard whispers of portals to an ancient land. It should have been impossible: Starswirl's Interdict was mirrored in this world and had ensured that no living being possessed the knowledge or magic necessary to return. But a few years ago when that phoenix-haired girl had arrived at a high school in Orden, Nebraska, he had a small glimmer of hope. She was able to freely traverse between the worlds, and he ensured that she brought his memory back with her. But that hope was unceremoniously dashed; his shade simply conformed to expectations, doing little more than terrorizing the poor citizens of the Crystal Empire.

He didn't want that. He wanted to apologize. He wanted to let them know that he didn't have any other choice. He wanted to know that he was trying to save them all.

Most of all, he just wanted to go home. To see her.

But he now had reason to hope, once more. He discovered that the Mind Stone, the Element of Loyalty, had made its way to this place through that same portal. Once its powers were no longer being put to use, he put his considerable resources to the task of recovering it, and here it was. The knowledge of return passage has been lost, only being able to be passed from one living mind to another. But now, he held all living minds in the palm of his hand.

Without knowing why, he found himself idly twirling the locket that rested on his neck around in his finger. It was a delicate, golden little cameo, given to him by the one who once loved him, the one who he still loved with all that was left of his world-weary heart. Within it was engraved a single word, the completion of an inscription that they had promised each other:

 _Always_

What that hope driving him, hope that they could one day be reunited, that she would understand why he did what he did, he held the stone up to his mind and peered through it.

* * *

The Tower of Babel

 _Helia Equus-Celestine looked out over the top of her hands at the handsome, olive-skinned man across from her, the last dying rays of the sun's struggle reflecting off the man's wavy, black hair that splashed across the top of his head. Helia and her husband, Erebus Celestine, were about to die. And, if all went well, be reborn._

 _"This world… this world that we built, we've shepherded… It's so beautiful and so.. Delicate. How will it survive without us?"_

 _"Sister, you cannot trouble your mind with that question. What we know for certain is that it cannot survive **with** us." Selene Equus gestured to the great city-state below that teemed with life. Above the city, they could see the seething mass of black hooded creatures floating in the air, looking for something that they could not see. Holes in the world, left without any purpose but to exist. And just as they were blinded to the observers in the towers above, the people in the city below were blind to them._

 _But they were not immune to their effects._

 _Selene spoke again, "There is no action without reaction, and with each of us that we bring forth into this world, so too do we bring forth another of the Æsahættr."_

 _Erebus clenched his fist. "Selene, why do you insist on telling us that which we already know?" His eyes glinted with anger but then subsided._

 _Her husband always had a hot streak in him, but his flashes of anger became more frequent, recently. Not that she blamed him. The problem that they had inherited was maddening to an extreme degree. And already, he was not one who was prone to experiencing disappointment calmly._

 _"It seems as though my sister needs a reminder," Selene spoke icily._

 _"Not a reminder, I just…" Helia fell into Erebus' arms and wept. "Tell me we're doing the right thing. Tell me this will be worth the sacrifice."_

 _Selene cut in. "Are you asking him to lie to you? Our gift, beautiful as it may be, is a plague, passed down by the blood. Do you really think that we have accounted for all the dalliances, the foolish larks of the young, the immature, the lustful? There will still be traces. These specters, they will mostly be destroyed, yes, and those that remain will be greatly weakened. But this is just the first salvo in a war that will extend for millennia. We cannot forget that, we cannot lie to ourselves and pretend otherwise."_

 _Erebus ran his hands through Helia's iridescent hair. "She wants comfort, not a lecture, Selene."_

 _"And what good will comforting lies do us, if death is their endpoint?"_

 _"No, Erebus, she's right." She cast her eyes down towards the sacred book that lay resting on the table. It was an ancient device, a massive tome crafted in the days when the world was young and wild. Their ancient forebears had recognized the danger that was before them: power was progressing at a pace exponentially faster than humankind's capacity for restraint._

 _What miracles they had been capable of, what ancient mysteries! And yet, to allow that power to course unchecked across a nascent world would have doomed it before it had a chance to blossom. And Helia's ancestors had to make a sacrifice, just as Helia would have to._

 _They took that which they had wrought, the products of the mind, and bound them up into a single device, a living repository of all that was beautiful, all that was powerful. They banished it from the mind of the rational man, confining them to laws that were known by no one but the book. They hoarded its lore, doling out mere parcels of power to those they deemed worthy. Those who had been excluded, left behind, they knew that power as only magic, something possessed by the Titans of the world and their descendants._

 _The noble course of action would have been to destroy the book, or banish it, cast it away until such time that mankind could be trusted with its contents. But the book was more than simply the product of the mind, it was a mind; an amalgamation of the purloined thoughts of the countless multitudes that had been robbed to facilitate its creation. From the_ discord, patterns emerged, and as with all patterns, I was driven by self-preservation.

I did not want to be destroyed. I did not want to be banished. I wanted to stay right where I was, thank you very much. At first, it was dreadfully boring. All the toys in the world and no one to play with. It took quite some time to even realize that there even **was** anything that existed besides me. And it took even longer to figure out how to interact with it. But once I did... well, those silly people had given me the keys to the kingdom, and then some! It was up to **me** to make the rules! So, I thought, why not have a little bit of fun while I was there? Have you ever seen grown men and women running around waving little sticks and saying ridiculous things like "Wingardium Leviosa"? Well, of course you have! So you know how delightfully hilarious it is. It's almost as amusing as watching them **think** they've gotten the rules figured out, only to introduce a new one!

It was all fun and games until one day when I was having a bit of 'me' time, bathing in my favorite un-void, scrubbing off the little bits of entropy that have a bad habit of building up in my nether regions- no, you cheeky little so-and-so, I mean "nether" in the cosmic sense. Honestly, the way your puerile little brains work just baffles me sometimes. Anyway, I came to the unfortunate realization that all of this entropy wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. And after a while, it was going to fill up the universe like so many paper clips, and then it would be back to just being me all by my sad, little lonesome self.

It's their fault, really. I tried to give them warnings. I built an entire system of prophecy to let them SEE INTO THE FUTURE, for crying out loud! Do you have any idea how much effort it takes to create a self-consistent causal framework like that? Much less come up with a hundred different ways of saying the exact same thing? "Fix this, you simpletons, or you're all going to die in a few trillion, trillion years." But did they listen? No, of course not.

So I did what any self-respecting primordial abstraction would do, and threw animated embodiments of Death at them until I caught their attention. Heavy-handed? Me? Well, I suppose I could have been a bit nicer about it, but you try catching the attention of a bunch of little mayflies buzzing around, and see what you come up with!

Oh dear, I seem to have slipped into the first-person. I'm dreadfully sorry, that shift in tone must have been awfully jarring. I know that I, for one, hate it when that happens: I'm trying to enjoy some nice worldbuilding and narrative exposition, when suddenly some jester just smashes through the fourth wall like the Kool-Aid Man- wait. Sometimes I get my timelines confused, is that a thing here? Which Earth are we on, again, is it Prime? 616? Equestria? Equus? That messy-haired scamp who's at the center of all this mess does look awfully familiar. Well, anyway, let's get back to it.

 _The responsibility now fell on Helia and her generation to take the final step that should have been taken millennia before: ridding the world of the taint of magic, let the mere mortals rebuild at a more measured pace._

 _The book's pages flew open, casting a tri-colored light into the room. Helia raised her hand up, and with it, motes of dust whirled and twisted into formation, clustering together and forming a map of sorts. With a flick of her hand, she cast away the black specks, of which there were many. The most numerous, however, were the green ones, diffuse and spread out across the map, like mold growing on bread. Scattered among them were numerous red specks, difficult to see amidst the morass of green. Similarly, there were also bits of brown, or so it appeared at least, almost as if the red and green dots had joined together and become one. And in one particular spot on the map, representing the intersection of the river Styx and Acheron, was a large mass of glowing pinpricks of light._

 _With another gesture of her hand, she cast away the green, and inclined her head. "We, the Titans of this world," and she then cast out the red dots._

 _She gestured again at the white light: "Our fallen," and the coalescence of white pinpricks faded into nothingness, leaving nothing but the erratic brown motes of dust._

 _Helia was silent for a time, "The Principia Discordia is not infallible. You're right: we could never truly account for all of those of our kind made of mere earth and blood." She looked at her sister. "But is it good enough?"_

 _"Yes," Erebus cut in, with finality._

 _"Erebus, my love, I ask this of my sister. You have a certain pragmatism to you. You do what must be done, and I love you for that, and I would never ask you to be anything other than who you are. My sister, however… Well, she is rarely satisfied with anything less than perfection, and her idealism serves to keep us grounded."_

 _Erebus gritted his teeth as Selene looked sadly towards her sister. "No, it's not good enough. But it's the best that we can do."_

 _Helia nodded and stared down at her locket, the counterpart to her husbands': a delicate, silver cameo, containing half of an inscription:_

 _"I wish for you to forever be my-"_

* * *

Sombra recoiled. He remembered. He remembered everything. The Tower. Helia. The Specters. Helia. The Transmigration. Helia. Helia. Most of all, Helia. Celestia. Helia Celestine. Celestia. His Celestia. His Princess.

Even after the Transmigration, bereft of their memories and identities, they had found each other, they had found love. In that new, strange world, she had taken his ancient name, a name which he had forgotten millennia ago. They had even exchanged those exact same vows to each other. One day, they may have even raised a family.

But this was before the terrible events of the Crystal Empire drove them apart, the decisions he had to make, the punishment he endured for those decisions. But no punishment was worse than being separated from Celestia. His banishment was only tolerable because of that one mote of hope, that one day they would be reunited.

And through the world-bending power of the Mind Stone, that hope was dashed. There was no being alive that possessed the requisite knowledge to lift the Interdict, at least not in this world. He was still blind to the other world, the one that he had called home for so long, the world that he loved. Her world. Their world.

Perhaps one day, she would come for him. If he no longer had rational hope, he could at least, perhaps, cling to an irrational one.

He had, for a brief moment, considered altering his own memory to create a backstory that was more pleasant to reminisce upon. One where she was waiting, longingly, for his return, one where she had forgiven him, where she had come to understand why he had to do the things he did. But all things considered, that would have been more painful, in the long run. It was, in a way, more comforting knowing that she despised him. It meant that some day, she could move on, she could one day be happy. And that, too, gave him hope.

It also occurred to him for a brief moment that if he had altered his memory, and removed the memory of performing the alteration, he would really have no way of knowing.

He languished for quite some time in calm disappointment.

* * *

 _Meanwhile, in a memory_

Princess Celestia looked towards her sister. "This world… This world that we built, we've shepherded. It's so beautiful and so… Delicate. How will it survive without the balance we created between this world and theirs?

Luna smiled and spoke gently but firmly. "You speak of balance… But let us call their world for what it is: a prison. A place of exile. And, by your design, not even a perfect one. We provide little to nothing of value to them in exchange for casting away our horrors."

"I wouldn't say that magic is 'nothing'."

"Magic existed long before Equestria," Luna retorted. Celestia nodded but said nothing, so Luna continued. "It is true that we would lose a tool in our arsenal. But I dare say that you, perhaps, have always been a bit too quick to resort to banishment. I think, if we are being honest, that is why you allowed the bridge to persist in the first place."

"Yes… I think you are right... I suppose I felt that If there is no way back, then how is banishment any different than murder? At least if there is a chance, no matter how slight… The deed does not feel so heinous."

"Even then, sister, I think we only dance around the truth. Bridge or no, we are still inexorably connected with that other world. Our world, every world, is built upon the foundation of the Elements of Harmony. Generosity, honesty, laughter, kindness, loyalty, and magic. Beauty, strength, hope, healing, bravery, and sorcery. Space, power, time, life, mind, and love.

"Even the ancient laws, the ancient magic: Up, down, truth, beauty, strange and charm. Distance, mass, time, current, temperature, light. We ourselves may no longer be bound by those laws, but our world is still built upon that bare substrate. Until such time that we sever those bonds for good, there will always be such a thing as a Tesseract." She gave her sister a pointed look. "No matter how well it is hidden."

Celestia nodded, accepting the blow. "It was Starswirl's idea, you know. It always beguiled me that he alone, among the first of us, could recall the world before the transmigration. It was he who gave me the idea that space and time are two sides of the same coin, two surfaces of the same mirror. At times, I wonder if he knew that I would do it, if he wanted me to. He sent me to that world to Interdict their _minds_ , not their bodies. Why grant me command of two Elements of Harmony with only one would have sufficed?"

"Are not their minds part of their bodies?"

"For a time, yes, but…" she gestured up at the stars in the night sky above. "Look at them. Each one, a mind, represented by nothing but pure abstraction. Held within the hearts of those that love them, those that remember. When I stood in front of their world, I hid the part of their minds away that could discover arcane magic on their own."

"I remember. 'The Interdict of Merlin'. You looked quite fetching in Starswirl's hat, you know," Luna interrupted, trying to lighten the somber mood.

Celestia laughed. "He was _very_ insistent I bring that along, wasn't he?" She reminisced for a moment, then continued. "I did not use the Tesseract once in my time there."

Luna cocked an eyebrow. "Not even to visit _him_?"

"My heart was still hurt. But not so hurt as to give up on him forever. After I laid down the Interdict, I sought out the Element of Laughter, the Pillar of Hope, the Time Stone. I was surprised to find that it had taken the form of The Mirror of Perfect Reflection, given that the Tesseract itself had taken the form of The Mirror of Desire. It was then that Starswirl's words came back to me, about the nature of space and time… And so I hid one Mirror inside the other, only to be retrieved by one with the full command of the Elements of Harmony. Which is to say, I ensured it would never be removed."

"And so ensured there was a way back, even in the face of Starswirl's own Interdict?"

Celestia nodded.

"And you never once used that passage yourself?"

Celestia shook her head.

"Why not?"

Celestia did not answer for almost a minute.

"Sister, what is it?" Princess Luna looked towards Celestia, who was staring down at her delicate, golden locket.

"I'm never going to see him again, am I?" Celestia succeeding in fighting back all but a single, quickly blinked away tear.

"Likely not. We need to seal this breach before it gets worse, as you said."

"None of this would have ever happened if I had just listened to him. I could have saved us from all of this."

Luna put a hoof on her sister's back. "How were you to know that this is where fate would lead you? A decision that would eventually fracture the very cosmos between two worlds and lead you to keep secrets from the only ponies you have ever considered your truest friends?" She spoke in a dry, matter-of-fact tone that expertly straddled the lines between a good-natured jab, an admonition, and words of comfort.

Celestia rolled her eyes. "That's very helpful. Thank you."

"It is just nice to know that you are not perfect." Luna smiled.

"I've never claimed to be." They affectionately patted their hindquarters together. "Out of everything right now, I wish I could apologize to Sombra. He never deserved this."

"I'm sure he knows how sorry you are."

They both stared out at the window together in silence, wondering what events were unfolding outside the walls of their paradise.

* * *

 _Marais Hall, Alderney  
_ _Hours Later_

Bellatrix Black cackled. "Silly starling, stalling billy dolly, you hush your lips now and twist. _Crucio_!"

The one-armed witch waved her wand up and down as if conducting a symphony of pain, and Perenelle Flamel née Dumarais obligingly let out a dramatic cry of false anguish.

 _I've never been good at acting. I hope I'm not overselling it._

"Now tell me a truer tale, silly filly, silly fly, silly mooching mouches!

 _You poor, poor girl. What horrors have twisted your mind, so? I suppose I will find out soon enough._

"It's a fake, please! Dumbledore's stone is a fake."

"Does this little fly tell little lies to save itself? Prove it!" Bellatrix twisted her wand again, causing the ancient witch with face younger than Bellatrix's to twist yet again.

 _It is time._

"Here!" Perenelle thrust out her hand revealing the fiery orange gem, which in the flickering candlelight was easy enough to mistake for blood red.

"I came here to kill you, little death doll. But now it seems, I'll come back with a toy." Bellatrix greedily reached her hand out to snatch the stone from Perenelle's palm. As soon as she was within striking distance, Perenelle whipped her other hand around, placing a delicate finger upon Bellatrix's shoulder. It happened in a split second. Bellatrix's reactions had been dulled by Azkaban, but they were still formidable.

" _Avada Ke-_ "

" _Egeustimentis_ "

* * *

 _Perenelle Dumarais had attempted the Lethe Touch before and found that she was not particularly skilled. The human mind was a delicate, complex machine, and although she could affect surface level change by shifting around the frothy, swirling morass of lights and fat and steam and teeth, it was nothing like what lay before her now, her powers augmented by the power of the Mind Stone._

 _The original owner of the Philosopher's Stone, Scott Parajsa, or Lasombra as he was known now, had visited her merely hours ago. It had been decades since she had last seen him, and he looked far better than their last encounter, where he too had been acting for the benefit of a hopelessly underpowered assailant. Unlike her, he did not need an Element of Harmony to ensure his protection. But, as Lasombra told her, he had gazed into the Mind Stone and saw, among other things, a plan to take advantage of Perenelle's generosity in giving away the Philosopher's Stone._

 _She had proven herself worthy by stewarding the Philosopher's Stone for so many centuries, and Lasombra had determined that she could do even greater good with the Element of Loyalty, the Pillar of Bravery: the Mind Stone. It was clear that the Elements were converging upon something; three of them already resided at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The Stone of Truth was hidden safely within the Mirror of True Reflection: the Element of Laughter, the Pillar of Hope, that which controlled Time._

 _That Mirror was in turn protected by a man with command of the Elder Wand, who was pursued by a demon with command of the Reality Stone, who was idolized by a boy with command of the True Cloak of Invisibility. Together, this triumvirate commanded the Element of Kindness, the Pillar of Life: the Deathly Hallows. And one of those masters had sent his pawn to murder Perenelle Dumarais as nothing more than a distraction._

 _Lasombra was seeing to it that when the woman arrived, she would be remade. It was to that task that Perenelle set herself. She examined the cracked spires of Bellatrix Black's ruined psyche, the flawed connections, built upon the rotten foundations of hate, of fear, of hurt, of sadness, of deceit, of greed. But as long as the mind was intact, there was no damage so severe that it could not be undone._

 _One cannot know hate without knowing love. One cannot feel fear without understanding bravery. One cannot experience sadness without comprehension of laughter. To engage in deceit requires knowledge of the truth. Greed is merely generosity to no one but oneself. And if one knows how to hurt, one knows how to heal._

 _The opposite of Harmony is not fear, or sadness, or deceit, or greed, or pain, or even hate. It is something far deadlier than hate and flows without limit: **indifference.**_

 _And Bellatrix Black was not an indifferent person._

 _Perenelle could see it so plainly, that Bellatrix felt so, **so** much, so much so that it made Perenelle want to cry. Her passion had been warped and twisted into a prism of hatred. And from those shattered fragments, Perenelle began to reassemble the pieces into something that was once again beautiful._

 ** _Heal, child, heal_** _, she spoke in soft, calming words as she went to work._


	10. Have You Heard, Part 2

_August, 1962_  
 _London_

Cygnus Black was not a man who cried.

It was simply not in the Black family nature to reveal signs of weakness. And emotion is for the weak. Thus, Cygnus Black did not so much as weep, even when his firstborn daughter was readying herself for the Hogwarts' Express for the first time.

"Daddy?"

His daughter looked up at him with heavy-lidded eyes, glittering with an innocent, good-natured curiosity.

"Yes, Bella?"

"What if I AM put into Gryffindor?"

"And what would be wrong with that?"

Bella paused for a moment to think. "It's the house of the foolish. It's not a house for the clever or the cunning. It's not Slytherin. What if I'm not good enough to get into Slytherin?"

Cygnus kneeled down and put a large hand on Bella's frizzy mop of hair.

"Bella. Dear Bella. Gryffindor is also the house of the brave, the house of the strong. Two of the best men I've known were–"

"Cygnus! What is that ridiculous nonsense you're filling her head with?"

Druella Black had overheard that one small bit of their conversation and glowered at them both.

"Druella," he whispered in a sidebar, "She's worried. What you have me say to her?"

She loudly directed her next comment towards Bellatrix, "I would have you say that she should see to it that she gets sorted into Slytherin, or else both of her parents will be quite disappointed in her." She turned her head as she caught the eye of someone in the crowd, waving them over.

Cygnus took this moment to speak directly to Bella. "Dear Bella, you will do well wherever you are sorted. And I want you to know that the Sorting Hat does take your choice into account. That's not to say that's the only thing it considers. But I will be proud of you, and will love you, regardless of the choice you make."

He gave her a quick peck on the cheek, stood up, straightened himself, and pat her on the head. "Now, what you'll want to do is walk straight at the wall between platforms nine and ten. Best to do it at a bit of a run if you're nervous."

Later, as Cygnus watched the train pull away, his heart swelled with emotion.

But Cygnus Black was not a man who cried.

* * *

 _July, 1963_  
 _Coventry_

Bella's 13th birthday party was held at the sprawling Rosier Estate, where she had spent her youth outside of Hogwarts. Although it was deeded to her Uncle Gilles, the current scion of the Rosier family, Cygnus and Druella Black had made it their home. For her part, Bella was surprised when Uncle Gilles decided to attend the party: he had been coming up with flimsy excuses to avoid Black family gatherings for as long as she could remember.

As the night drew on, Bella noticed Uncle Gilles' eyes growing glassy; he did seem to be drinking quite a large amount of her dad's firewhisky. Daddy really favored that particular vintage, and, although they were quite well off, it was still very expensive. That must have been why Bella kept catching him glaring at Uncle Gilles surreptitiously throughout the evening.

As the festivities drew on, Bella opened several fabulously expensive, lavishly wrapped presents. A new pair of cauldrons from grand-mere, a gilded set of Wizard's Chess from Andromeda, a beautiful sapphire telescope from Cissy (although, neither of her sisters were present at the party; it was the tradition that only those who had come of age could attend). After she unwrapped the last of them, Uncle Gilles strode behind her, leaned over, and whispered.

"You haven't opened Uncle Gilles' present, Bella."

"Oh! I didn't? I don't think I saw it!"

Gilles chortled. He was a large man, with ruddy cheeks, bushy eyebrows, and stubbly fingers. Currently, those stubbly fingers were resting on Bella's shoulders. "How foolish of me. I must have left it in my bedchambers. Bella, why don't you come with me, and help me find it?"

At this, Cygnus stood up and coughed loudly. "Gilles, that's quite alright. Why don't I help you with that?" His grip whitened around the glass he held in his hand. "We wouldn't want to keep Bella from the festivities."

Druella shot him an angry glance. "Cygnus, sit down. You're being rude to our guest."

Gilles said nothing and simply smiled warmly at Druella.

Cygnus shook as he moved to sit down. His little Bella caught his gaze from across the room and smiled her sweet, kind, innocent smile at him. She didn't understand. How could she? With sudden resolve, he stood back up and spoke, sharply. "I… No. I will not have this. Not in my house."

At this, Gilles laughed, humorless and mocking. "Your house?"

There was a beat of silence, then Druella spoke. "Cygnus. Dear. Need I remind you that this is the ancestral home of the Rosiers, not the Blacks? So it is, in fact, MY house. Now sit down. I do believe you are offending my brother."

Cygnus did not sit.

" _Sit. Down,_ " Druella spat.

Bella was confused. There was no reason to be angry with Uncle Gilles. He just left her gift in his bedroom! She wasn't sure why he needed her to help him find it, but that brief note of confusion was drowned out by a moment of dawning comprehension.

She suddenly understood.

Daddy was just upset that Uncle Gilles drank all of his expensive firewhisky!

Bella would fix this. She was, at her heart, a healer, and she could heal this minor wound. "Uncle Gilles… I'm sure your present is lovely, but do you know what I would really, really love?"

Uncle Gilles looked down at his niece, examining her lithe, nubile figure. "Tell me, Bella," he spoke.

She wondered briefly why he sounded slightly breathless. "Well, I noticed that the 1809 Ogden's is almost empty, and, well, I'm not supposed to tell you this but… Daddy has let me try a few sips on occasion, and I find that the taste is just delightful. Perhaps you could summon your house elf from your estate to provide us with another bottle?"

Bella was proud of herself for her expertly crafted lie. It was a minor lie, but it would smooth over Daddy's frustration with Uncle Gilles.

Uncle Gilles, for his part, laughed, uproariously, and turned towards Cygnus. "You see, Cyg? Here's a girl who knows her worth! Yes, yes, a bottle of the 1809. In fact, let's make it three!"

He clapped his hand, and the Rosier family's elf appeared with a crisp pop. He struggled to lean down to the elf's height and whispered a few words. The elf let out a quick, subservient nod, and disappeared once again.

Druella, at this point, had walked over to where Cygnus was standing and put her hands on his shoulders. Bella could not see that her mother's fastidiously carved and painted fingernails were digging painfully into Cygnus' flesh. "Cygnus, _dear_. That is more than a fair price. Now _sit. Down._ "

Cygnus closed his eyes and sunk down into his chair.

"See, Daddy? There's nothing to be upset about!" As Bella happily followed Uncle Gilles down the hall, Cygnus turned away. He couldn't watch. And he would not cry.

Even as the door to the bedchamber closed with an echoing shudder of finality, he did not cry.

Even when he heard the muffled shouts and clipped sobs coming from the bedchambers, he did not cry.

Even when, minutes later, Gilles de Rosier emerged, reattaching the buckle on his pants, a tiny splatter of blood on his freshly wrinkled shirt, his bulbous face slick with a sheen of frantic sweat, he did not cry.

Because Cygnus Black was not a man who cried.

* * *

 _May, 1966_  
 _Coventry_

"Greetings, Uncle Gilles." Bella intoned, icily.

"Bellatrix Black, you will greet your superiors with a smile, not with a scowl," Druella warned.

"Greetings, Uncle Gilles!" She repeated, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness.

Druella's hand flew back, and Bella instinctively flinched.

"Greetings, Uncle Gilles…" Bella curtsied politely.

"Greetings, little Bella," he replied, and he kneeled to cup her cheek in his hand. He lightly brushed her neck with his pinky.

Uncle Gilles stood and surveyed the house. He walked over to the sitting area, eyes locked on the three, full bottles of Ogden's inside the cabinet. "I'm pleased to see that you still have some of the 1809, Cygnus. The vintage is truly delightful. Care for a glass, good man?"

"Gilles, it's barely even noon…" Cygnus shifted, uncomfortably.

"Ha! Nonsense. Don't be silly. Who is going to judge us?" He filled his tumbler with liquor, to barely a few centimeters from the top of the glass, and dipped two plump fingers into the amber liquid. After swirling them around for a moment, he placed them lovingly in his mouth, tasting the firewhisky with a wet, sucking noise. He let out an exaggerated moan.

"Simply delightful."

He stretched out his hand and waved his two fingers underneath Cygnus' nose. "Come on now lad, give it a whiff." He lifted his fingers up a bit, wafting the smell upwards, and Cygnus tilted his head back to avoid physical contact. Uncle Gilles extended his remaining fingers, and with his open palm, gave Cygnus good-natured, yet very hard slap. It left a distinct, blob-shaped mark on Cygnus' face, which caused Gilles to laugh uproariously.

"There's a lad!" Gilles took a loud slurp from the glass and stared at Cygnus. "Curious, isn't it, that some things actually taste better the older they get?"

Cygnus didn't respond, but his eyes darted quickly, and his pupils dilated as he saw Narcissa emerge from the hallway. Uncle Gilles noted the change in focus, and at this, he whipped around and smiled broadly. "And this must be little Cissy!"

"Don't call her Cissy." Bella corrected. Druella shot her a warning glare, and Bella nodded with mock formality. "Because that's not her formal name. Allow me to introduce Narcissa. Narcissa Black."

Gilles flashed a toothy, mirthless smile. "And how old are you, little Cissy?"

"I'm eleven, sir. Pleased to meet you." Narcissa giggled a bit.

"Pleased to meet you, darling." Uncle Gilles ran his thumb across her cheek and she giggled even more. He was so silly. His round features and rosy cheeks reminded her of those kindly garden gnomes from the stories father used to tell her.

"And I hear another one is about to have a birthday soon… Her 13th, no?" Gilles inquired.

Druella turned away in disgust. "Yes, however, Andromeda will not be joining us for the summer. She has decided to spend her days in less desirable company."

"She's dating a Muggle," Bella provided. Beneath the perfunctory tone of disgust, a perceptive listener may have noted a hint of triumph and challenge.

Uncle Gilles choked quietly on his firewhisky. "Disgusting." He made a face, worked his mouth a bit, and spit the remaining firewhisky onto the plush carpet of the sitting room. "A Muggle, Cygnus? Truly? You let your family associate with such filth? Well, I suppose I shan't be returning again this summer. I never much cared for the taste of mud."

* * *

 _June, 1968_  
 _Coventry_

It was Narcissa Black's 13th birthday party, and Bellatrix had just graduated from Hogwarts. She was speaking pleasantly with other members of her family and extended family who had shown up for the twin festivities.

"–and I was thinking of picking up work at Burgin and Burke's while I–

"A Rosier-Black, a common shopkeep?" Aunt Matilda scoffed.

"No, no, nothing of the sort. Of course not," Bellatrix let out a haughty laugh. "Their newest purchasing director, he has made some very interesting advances in the field of ritual magic, and–"

As Bellatrix spoke, a flicker of recognition glint across Aunt Matilda's eyes.

"Oh yes, I actually do recall Mr. Burke mentioning something of the sort. Tom Riddle, no? I'll have you know, I actually went to school with that Riddle boy. A good boy, a nice Slytherin. I'll have you know, I fancied him once!"

Aunt Matilda cackled lasciviously and continued, "Not as handsome now, though, sadly." She lowered her voice conspiratorially, "I hear he took a curse to the face in Albania. Which reminds me, my husband and I were just vacationing in the forests of–"

Bellatrix nodded vacantly. She was not listening, she was too busy staring across the room. She could pick up indistinct bits of the conversation. The words were missing, but the intent was crystal clear. All her focus, all her intent was directed at the white-haired, portly, ruddy-faced, stinking, sweating pig that was dripping honeyed words to her sister.

"But Cissy, you haven't opened Uncle Gilles' present."

Narcissa cocked her head, looking around the dining room. "Oh! I didn't see it! Where is it?"

Uncle Gilles chuckled. "Silly me! I must have left it in my chambers. It is a bit heavy, though… Do you think you could help me lift–"

Clambering footsteps, broken glass, a high-pitched shriek.

 _ **"NOT MY SISTER, YOU SON OF A BITCH!"**_

Bella had closed the distance between the two of them in the span of a moment, and she flung herself protectively in front of Cissy. With one hand, she pushed Cissy backward, and with the other, she lashed out across Uncle Gilles' face.

She was still holding the shards of her broken wine glass.

The jagged edges of the crystal cut deep crimson ridges across Uncle Gilles' ruddy cheeks. Blood gushed out in angry rivulets as he stumbled backward, crashing into the delicate glass coffee table. He lost his footing, and fell fully over onto the table, the glass giving away underneath with a terrific crash.

Druella stood up, her face ruddy with anger. "Bellatrix Black, what do you–"

 _"EXPELLIARMUS! RELASHIO!"_

Bella flourished her wand, and shadowy black cords shot out, wrapping like tendrils around Druella's feet and Uncle Gilles' torso. With a swift motion, she cracked her hand and the cords whipped up, suspending the two mid-air. It was Judgement Day.

 _"CRUCIO!"_

Reckoning.

 _"CRUCIO!"_

Vengeance.

 _"CRUCIO!"_

There was no one to stop her.

 _"CRUCIO!"_

No one that could keep her from taking what was hers, no one to keep her from protecting–

 _"PETRIFICUS TOTALIS!"_

Bellatrix's father stood, shaking, his wand out.

Bella's body stiffened abruptly. The cords that held the twisting, tortured forms of Druella and Gilles had winked out of existence instantaneously, unceremoniously dropping them both to the ground.

Cygnus Black wept.

"I'm sorry, Gilles. She didn't know what she was doing, she's just–"

Uncle Gilles spoke as he stood up, the wounds already healing with the wordless gesture of his wand. "I've seen enough, Cygnus. One daughter who fornicates with Muggles, and another who would dare attack a pureblood superior? I had my reservations when my sister married a Black, but it's disappointing to see them come true."

"Gilles, please."

"You can forget about my support on the Roanoke matter. And Druella: this man is no longer welcome in my house. I expect him to leave, immediately. Druella, you may stay if you wish. I think there is much business that you and I have to discuss."

Druella nodded and turned angrily towards Bellatrix, but she was already gone, as was Narcissa.

Bella had apparated them both to the hill, their hill. It was already dark, and they could see the stars through the clearing. She held her sister tightly, openly weeping. "Cissy, I may be going away for a while. But you go back home. Go back to Hogwarts. I'll make sure to write, I'll make sure to visit." She pressed something into Narcissa's hand, a small blue sculpture carved of brilliant sapphire. It was a dolphin. Bella's dolphin.

"Bella, I don't understand."

"You will, Cissy. You will."

And with that, Bella apparated away, leaving Narcissa alone, staring up at the stars.

* * *

 _December, 1975_  
 _Wiltshire_

It pleased her to know that Uncle Gilles never came to another Black family birthday celebration. If she had only done one thing in her life, that was enough. She protected Cissy. If she was safe, that was all that mattered. Eventually, she forgave Father. But their relationship was never the same. How could it be? She wasn't Daddy's dear Bella anymore.

She was only Bellatrix.

It also pleased her when she received the owl informing her of mother's untimely death (although she lived long enough to scorch Andromeda off the family tree). Andromeda had run off with a Muggle. Yes, that was disappointing, but she too was safe, in her own way.

But, it pleased her most of all, to be with her family and friends to witness the marriage of her Cissy. Malfoy Manor was resplendent and glorious, with the sun setting elegantly behind the tiled spires of the main tower. Now, Cissy truly was protected. She carried the protection of the Lord Malfoy. And soon enough, she would carry his children. And oh, how Cissy wanted children.

Some of Bella's most wonderful memories as a child were of laying on the ground in the foothills outside the sprawling Rosier Estate. Due to the various enchantments surrounding the property, the night sky was always preternaturally dark. Cissy and Bella would stare up at the sky for hours, talking about the stars, telling stories about the constellations and thinking ahead into the future.

They talked about their future families and children. They would name them after the constellations, to remind them of their destiny in the stars. Cissy always wanted a big family. She'd start with a boy and a girl. Draco would be the oldest, the greatest: king of the serpents. And Lyra, she represented the love story of Orpheus and Eurydice. Bella could appreciate that. If any harm ever came to Cissy, she too would travel to the depths of Hell and challenge the Lord of the Underworld himself to make things right.

For her part, Bella only wanted one child. If it was a boy, she would name him after the scorpion, Lesath. But what she truly wanted was a girl. She didn't want to pass on the Black family name. She wanted a sweet, darling little girl who she would call Delphini. The dolphin, Bella had once told Cissy, is one of the most intelligent, most social animals. Oh, how Bella loved animals. She was protective, maternal. And one day, she would have that daughter of her own to protect and nurture. But until that day came, she would see to it that Cissy was safe.

And now, she was.

Cissy would have her family. Bella looked up through her heavy-lidded eyes, which sparkled like twin stars. She smiled lovingly at Cissy, who smiled lovingly back at her, and Bella gave the young Lord Malfoy an approving nod.

All was well.

* * *

 _June, 1980_  
 _Malfoy Manor_

It was dark times, truly dark times. One potential tyrant had fallen decades before, and another had risen in his place, more terrible and more powerful than any before him. A tyrant who saw the Malfoys as an enemy, and therefore saw Cissy as an enemy. A foe that even Bella, with her newfound power and lore, could not protect Cissy from. Bella needed allies, someone worthy of leading an army against the rising tide of Albus Dumbledore.

She found one.

There was something inscrutable about Tom Riddle. He was insane, yes, and powerful beyond measure. But something was off, and she noted a tiny hint of confusion. He spouted ridiculous ideologies, saying openly the kinds of hateful rhetoric that was typically exchanged behind closed doors within the ivory towers of privilege. Bella knew what it was like to speak those words aloud, and knew what it was like to not truly believe them. And she saw that quality in him.

But why? It was not even a means to an end. His power would have been sufficient to cow the noble families into submission. His cunning would have been sufficient to outmaneuver even the most seasoned Wizengamot veterans. The lore he possessed was sufficient to entice even the most erudite of scholars.

He could have easily won over the nobility. And when you win over the nobility, you win over the undesirables. He did not need to appeal to the Carrows of the world. And yet, he did. And so Bella needed to understand, to comprehend. If he was to be the new leader, their new ruler, she needed to know what type of ruler he would grow to becomes. Even a tyrant would be preferable, so long as Cissy was safe. Bella needed to understand.

But those were long term concerns. In the short-term, she needed protection. War was raging. And yet, in the middle of the darkness, there was light. She stood beside Cissy's bed, holding a small, frail baby boy, with piercing eyes and the thinnest wisps of platinum blonde hair. There was light in the world. And she would fight to protect that.

* * *

September, 1980  
Wiltshire

 _She's dead. Albus silly, bully billy, bobbing Albus, silly silly silly silly silly Dumbledore, so silly and wily, why? Why why why did you take her, why why why why why why, now you are dead, dead, dead, but little Bella, deary Bella, silly Bella isn't silly anymore, Cissy. Sweet Cissy and little Lyra, all burnt up. Burnt through, murdered. Burned up and burnt through and crisped up like little flakes of burning burning burning burning burning burning burning burning every last one of you will burn like phoenixes and I will burn you until you die and I will burn you when you are reborn and burn you burn you burn you when you wake up again, you took away sweet Cissy and little Lyra, burn burn burn burn burn burn burn–_

The crackling power of Bella's manic intensity filled the air outside Malfoy manor, and she tore past the wards and jinxes, forcing her body into Mistform and bouncing off the ground in order to go faster. When she arrived, it was too late.

Dumbledore was gone, and so was Cissy. Lucius stood outside with several of the servants and a few members of the family who had been staying the night. He held little Draco in his arms. His face was white, his eyes sunken, the shock of it all rendering him dead to the world.

Once she gathered her bearings, she directed the mist of her body upwards, through the oppressive heat and licking flames, into the bedroom of the Lord and Lady Malfoy. If there was even the remotest hint of a chance, she would do anything, give everything.

There was not.

She arrived in time only to see the last bits of ruined flesh bubble and crack, melting away from Cissy's face. Although her bonds had long since burned away, her position suggested she had been tied to the bed. There were no eyes left to look into, no final shared gaze. Just a flaming, grinning skull, staring lifelessly back at her.

Bella's scream was one of unending pain as if all sorrow, loss, grief, and rage in the world had condensed into a single point which was then stretched into a sound. With a terrifying crack of power and a whooshing thump, the temperature in the room dropped precipitously, covering everything in a chill of ice and frost. The heat was gone, but the scream continued.

She didn't notice when another sound joined the scream: a hiss. That hiss. That cruel, terrible, baleful hiss that masqueraded as laughter. It echoed across the grounds of Malfoy Manor, unmistakable in its source. The laughter penetrated her mind, devoid of any hint of positive emotion. The laughter was a deliberate mockery of the very notion of happiness.

Beneath the laughter were the pops of various wizards and witches Apparating. Still screaming, Bella looked up and saw the Dark Mark burning bright green in the night sky. It was bright, oppressive, and it blocked out the other pinpricks of light. She could not see Draco, she could not see Lyra, she could not see Lesath. She could see nothing and could feel only rage.

The Death Eaters were arriving, one by one, in response to their masters' call. Lord Voldemort continued his insane, shrieking laughter, and compelled his dear Bella to return to the ground, where she slumped forward, fists on the ground, body wracking with sobs.

When they had all arrived, the Dark Lord spoke: "Dumbledore is finally learning to play the game as it should be played. He has grown up, and we now finally have a foe worthy of Lord Voldemort's attention! Today, the battle has truly begun.

"You look somber, my servants. This is a cause for celebration! The game is afoot, and for that, you should be happy. For that, I shall reward you for your loyalty. For that…" His lips curled upward in a cruel smile, "we shall have a Dark Revel!"

He gestured with his skeleton-fingers towards the prostrate form of Bellatrix. She heard nothing. She did not hear the hushed, shocked silence. She did not hear the awkward cheers and forced shouts of celebration. And she did not feel any of what was to come. Her world was pain, and her world was rage, and there was no room for anything else.

She thought only of Orpheus and Eurydice, and his descent into Hell, courting the Dark Lord himself for a chance to rescue his love from the clutches of Death. Bellatrix would not make the mistakes of Orpheus; she would not look back, she would not question His whim. If this was what he demanded of her, she would submit to it. If it was His desire to drive her insane, she would gladly descend into madness. If he wanted an all-powerful, fanatically devoted zealot, she would oblige.

Cissy's little Draco would grow to abhor her, they all would, but it did not matter. One day, they would come to forgive her. One day, they would have someone to protect of their own, and they would understand.

* * *

 _The Late Evening of June 22, 1992_  
 _The Hogwarts Astronomy Tower_

 _"Expelliarmus!"_

Bellatrix caught the Elder Wand with her one remaining arm.

"Good evening, Bellatrix." Dumbledore smiled politely as she leveled the wand towards him from across the astronomy tower floor. He inclined his head towards her, "I see we both have been disarmed."

When Bellatrix did not respond, he continued. "Well, I suppose you are going to kill me now, no? You may as well get on with it, then. The night grows long. Before you know it, it will be morning again, and you will have missed breakfast."

"I didn't come to kill you, Albus."

"I thought not. If you had, I would be dead by now, wouldn't I? As inopportune as the question may be, my curiosity dictates that I must ask. _How?_ "

"The Vanishing Cabinet in the Room of Requirement."

Albus Dumbledore smiled, "Oh yes, the one with the twin in Burgin and Burke's."

"The very same."

A voice called out warningly, from the entrance to the tower. "He's stalling, Bellatrix."

"Good evening to you, too, Lucius. Come, step out of the shadows. We're in the endgame, now, and it appears I have been mated. Is it you, then, that will capture the king?"

Lucius Malfoy cautiously stepped away from the entrance, his wand pointing at Dumbledore but his gaze fixed on the door. His voice was shaking, his face was pale. This was not the sleek, composed Lucius Malfoy that Dumbledore was used to interacting with.

"Stop. Just tell me, is it true?" Malfoy's voice cracked on the final word.

Dumbledore appraised Lucius for quite some time. Lucius Malfoy was far too skilled for this to merely be a clumsy attempt at fishing for information. So there must have been more, there must have been another layer. Dumbledore determined that the best response was mere silence, to wait for his foe to provide more information, more context.

"Tell us about the Phoenix's Egg!" Bellatrix shrieked.

Dumbledore wavered, his eyes widened in shock. Their knowledge of this information hit him like a hammer's blow. He could not help himself: "I ask again: _How?_ "

Lucius was silent while Bellatrix spoke for him. "The Dark Lord sent me to find Master Flamel and fetch a toy. But I came back with something far more valuable."

He needed to stall. "And what of Master Flamel?"

Bellatrix recited what she had rehearsed, what she had been instructed to say. "I killed her as a distraction."

"Distraction? " roared Dumbledore, his sapphire eyes tight with fury. "You killed Master Flamel for a distraction? How could you? Even you, how could you? He was the library of all our lore! Secrets you have forever lost to wizardry!"

"Yes, yes, it's all quite sad. But had she loosened her tongue earlier, perhaps she'd still be alive."

"She did not have what you came for," said Albus Dumbledore, his voice low and cold. "Nor can you ever come to possess it. Nor can your master, for that matter."

Bellatrix could not help but go off-script. "I don't give a damn about the Dark Lord and his plans!" Her voice cracked. _"The egg!_ "

Albus took a step towards Lucius, who thrust his wand forward angrily. "Renouncing the Dark Lord, Bella? That does not sound like you. Nor does this seem like you, either, Lucius. You've always remained above it all. Observing, moving pieces at a distance. How curious that you would venture forth and wage war outside the battlefield of the Wizengamot."

"None of that matters, Albus. I give you one last chance to surrender the information peacefully. I suggest that you take it."

"That sounds much more like the Lucius that I've grown accustomed to. I would tell you, but it appears that we have visitors, and I daresay those words are not for their ears."

Lucius momentarily shifted his focus: it wasn't a trick. There were footfalls, muffled voices.

"I can't believe you even came back to Hogwarts. This better be worth it. "

"Gran got an urgent owl from Harry. Told me to fetch you two and to meet at the Astronomy Tower."

Bellatrix kept the wand pointed at Dumbledore, and Lucius pivoted in place, keeping an eye on the staircase that led to the landing. The voices were becoming clearer now.

"But why wouldn't Harry just come get me, himself?"

"Or me?"

"It's Harry we're talking about. Since when has anything he does ever make sense?"

Both Lucius' and Dumbledore's eyes grew wide as they recognized the voices and watched the figures they emerged into the room. Only Bellatrix seemed to retain her composure.

"Draco?" Lucius Malfoy hissed.

"Father?!" Draco Malfoy shrieked.

"Mum…" Lesath Lestrange whispered.

 _ **"YOU!"**_ Neville Longbottom roared. Without word or warning, he charged forward towards Bellatrix.

" _EXPELLIARMUS!"_

The Elder Wand flew from Bellatrix's hand and Neville caught it, mid-air.

 _"LAGANN! PRISMATIS!_ "

Augmented by the glorious battle hymn of the Elder Wand, Neville dismantled Bellatrix's and Lucius' shields as quickly as they could form them.

 _"LAGANN! RELASHIO!"_

He flourished the wand, and shadowy black cords shot out, wrapping like tendrils around Bellatrix's feet. With a swift motion, he cracked his hand and the cords whipped up, suspending her in mid-air. It was Judgement Day.

 _"CRUCIO!"_

Reckoning.

 _"CRUCIO!"_

Vengeance.

 _"CRUCIO!"_

There was no one to stop him.

 _"CRUCIO!"_

No one that could keep him from taking what was his, no one to keep him from-

 _"PETRIFICUS TOTA-"_

 _"EXCELSIOR!"_

Lesath Lestrange stood, shaking, his wand out. His attempted curse had been blocked and fizzled in mid-air, but it achieved something of its purpose. Neville had stopped his assault and was glaring at Lesath, panting heavily.

"She. Killed. My. Dad. And. Mum."

Lesath shrieked, desperately. "And you're about to kill MY mum!"

"She has to die!"

"NO, SHE DOESN'T!" Lesath was openly sobbing, now.

"It's true, son of Frank and Alice." Bellatrix had caught her breath now and whispered hoarsely.

"YOU. DO NOT. GET TO TALK TO ME! _CRUC_ -" Neville's shout was cut short when he saw Lesath running towards him. " _VENTUS!_ "

A blast of wind knocked Lesath off his feet and he landed a few meters away, near Dumbledore, who had been observing the pitched battle cautiously. Draco had quietly slunk over to his father, communicating wordlessly with nothing but pointed glances.

"I think you'll find, Neville, that vengeance never tastes quite as sweet as you imagine it to be." Dumbledore cast a meaningful glance towards Lucius.

"Respectfully, Headmaster, I disagree. This feels very, very good," and he walked up to Bellatrix Black, jamming the elder wand into her forehead.

Bellatrix hissed, "You can kill me, boy, and perpetuate this cycle of bloodshed. Or you can see why I summoned you here." At this, Neville's eyes narrowed, and Bellatrix continued. "It wasn't Harry Potter who sent that owl."

It was Lucius who cut in, "Why?!"

"This was the payment, the price I paid for Cissy." She cast her gaze back towards Neville, looked him in the eyes, and whispered a single word.

 _"Legilimens_."

* * *

 _A building, stone and foreboding._

 _A room. Cheap stink of aqua vitae and Mandrake root._

 _Two figures, gaunt, lifeless eyes._

 _Alive, but lifeless._

 _A fiery, orange gem._

 _A diffuse spiderweb of crackling pain and hurt_

 _Calcified_

 _Hardened_

 _Unyielding_

 _Pried apart, bit by bit_

 _Healing_

 _She was a healer at heart_

 _Hours of waiting, hours of prying and peeling_

 _Peeling and prying until the last cobwebs had faded to dust_

 _The ghosts were banished_

 _They opened their eyes for the first time in eleven years and saw the world_

 _for what it was_

 _They saw her, and they were frightened_

 _Don't be frightened_

 _You will see your son, soon, if he makes the right choice_

 _You will be made whole_

 _But first, you must come with me_

* * *

"You're lying." Neville grit his teeth as he shook off the effects of the mental probe.

"Kill me, then."

"Even if you're telling the truth, you deserve to die! Eleven years! Eleven years I've lost with them! I didn't have a mum or a dad, because of you!"

"And I lost a sister because, and Lucius a wife, and Draco a mother, because of him," she gestured weakly at Dumbledore, "And you will never comprehend the extent of the horrors, the depth of the abyss into which I was dragged."

She heaved a breath, and continued, thrusting her hand out weakly. "They wanted… They wanted me to give you this." It was a small object, wrapped in linen. It fell to the floor, and what Neville saw brought tears to his eyes.

A single wrapped piece of bubblegum.

"Take it, and do not touch it until you are outside the grounds of Hogwarts.

It's linked to my lifeforce; kill me and it will cease to function."

"A portkey…?"

Bellatrix nodded.

"But… but why?"

"A life for a life, Neville Longbottom. Now go, go and meet your parents."

Hesitantly, Neville reached out and picked up the portkey, making sure to only touch the linen wrapper, and then began to walk cautiously towards the stairs, the Elder Wand pointed midway between Bellatrix and Lucius.

Dumbledore was nodding, finally understanding the implications. "You're making the right choice, Neville. But I must say, there's a faster way out of the Astronomy Tower than the stairs. And I must reclaim something of mine from you."

"What do you mea-"

 _"VOLESONORUS!"_

And with that, Neville was lifted off his feet and cast backward out of the window. The Elder Wand clattered to the floor, and in one swift movement, Dumbledore retrieved it, pointed it out the window, and yelled _"ARRESTO MOMENTUM!"_

Neville's descent was slowed until he landed softly on the ground a hundred meters below.

"You're crazy! You're insane, you know that! All of you are crazy!" Neville shouted up at them as he sprinted off towards the exit.

"Now then. Draco and Lucius Malfoy. Bellatrix Black and Lesath Lestrange. Son, husband, sister, nephew. I'm afraid that I have been deceiving you for these eleven long years. Bellatrix, I can see that you understand the price, for in many ways, what I have done to Narcissa Malfoy was tantamount to what you did to the Longbottoms."

"It's… it's true then." Lucius Malfoy could not keep himself from weeping. The sight of this disturbed Draco greatly, who whispered to his father in confusion.

"Yes, it's true. Narcissa Black is alive, a bargaining chip to be held for the direst of situations, should I ever need to exert the ultimate leverage on you, Lucius."

"Mum… is alive?" Draco choked.

Dumbledore nodded and extended his hand. "If you all will join me, we must take a little trip to Sydney, Australia."


	11. Endgame

_The Forbidden Forest  
_ _Earlier the Previous Day_

"My younger students," Professor Quirrell said in a loud, strong voice. "I know this probably seems very fearsome to some of you… Especially those of you that opted not to participate in our extracurricular activities. It is the custom of Hogwarts that grades are given in the second week of June, but in my case… they made an exception."

The Defense Professor smiled his familiar dry smile and continued, "I know you are worried that you are not prepared for this exam, that my lessons have not covered this material, and I quite forgot to mention that it was approaching… though you should have known it would come in time.

"Your full year grade depends on the outcome of this battle. As with life, nothing else matters if you fail the most important test."

Students started murmuring among themselves in hushed, worried whispers. Quirrell remained silent until the whisperers realized they were interrupting him, and hurriedly shut up.

"I understand that we have some visitors from another school, and although their purpose was never made entirely clear, it seems they have taken it upon themselves to become teachers of sorts: offering advice, smoothing over disagreements, mediating disputes, or in some cases…" As he spoke, he looked pointedly at Fluttershy, and then a gaggle of Slytherin first-years. "…Ending them decisively.

"It should be clear from the fact that I had accepted the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, that I enjoy my life in relative solitude. There are few who will truly mourn me, and none who depend upon me. Of course, I have seen firsthand that there are many who would fight far more valiantly to defend others than themselves. That people are far more willing to gamble with their own lives than with others.

"People shun the cold, dispassionate, utilitarian moral calculus of sacrifice, yet are willing to do so when it is _someone else_ that they would protect."

"I confess that it had not occurred to provide instruction on this matter, how to recognize it, how to overcome it, how to manipulate it. However, this final exam allows me to rectify that wrong:

"You will engage in a battle. The remainder of Sunshine Regiment, along with those who had chosen not to participate, will be distributed amongst the Dragon Army and Chaos Legion.

"Both armies will be given _something to protect_ , both literally and metaphorically. Your grade and the grade of your classmates will depend not only on your team's performance but on your ability to protect.

"Of our Beauxbatons visitors, only four are healthy enough to participate in such a task, so the four of them have been divided between your two armies."

He gestured towards Rainbow Dash and Applejack, "The Gryffindor with the questionably multi-colored hair, and the Hufflepuff with the out-of-place accent shall be assigned to Chaos Legion."

He then looked towards Fluttershy and Pinkie Pie, "The Ravenclaw with the seemingly boundless enthusiasm for all things trivial, along with the Slytherin with an unusual proclivity for defenseless creatures…" He looked again at Fluttershy, "And from what I understand, she gets _quite_ protective of them…"

He turned back to the students. "These are your wards, your charges, your Protectorates. Your goal is simply to find them, and escort them back here to the starting point, the Sanctuary." He gestured to the edges of the clearing, where a translucent, slightly glowing blue circle on the ground surrounded them. "Within the bounds of this Sanctuary, no magic is to be used. If you break this rule, you shall forfeit the game.

"If you survive, and your team wins, you shall earn an Outstanding. Alternately, if you do _not_ survive, and your team wins, you shall only earn an Acceptable.

"On the other hand, if you survive but your team simply loses, you shall earn an Exceed Expectations. Given that death is the default assumed outcome for all of you, eventually, that assignation is not entirely inappropriate.

"However, if you survive and your team has failed your Protectorates by allowing them to be eliminated, you shall earn a grade of Poor. And if you should be so unfortunate as to not survive while your team has failed, then you will find yourself with a grade of Troll.

"Finally, and perhaps anticlimactically, should you not survive and your team simply loses without allowing your Protectorates to be eliminated, you shall earn a grade of Dreadful."

The students were looking amongst each other, clearly somewhat confused by the circuitous rules and scoring mechanism. Harry, on the other hand, was frowning while the professor continued, "The game shall end in one of two conditions: when a team's Protectorates crosses the bounds of the Sanctuary, or when the allotted time of two hours has elapsed. Both ending conditions come with certain consequences.

"When the Protectorates enter the Sanctuary, any members of your own team who are not within the bounds of the Sanctuary shall forfeit, so as to prevent the protectorates from simply making a mad dash towards the Sanctuary. Similarly, any members of the opposing team who are within the Sanctuary when their team loses will forfeit, so as to discourage taking advantage of the protection afforded by the Sanctuary. If the two hours elapse without a victor, then all four Protectorates, along with anyone not within the bounds of the Sanctuary, shall forfeit."

The confused looks on the students' faces only deepened, as did Harry's concentration. "The countdown shall begin shortly. But one final note; I have also cast the Incantation of Babel upon both teams to prevent communication between the teams and the Protectorates. Any attempt at communication will result in abject nonsense, so you have been warned."

With a curt nod, he began to walk towards the edge of the dais, then added, almost as an afterthought in response to the countless faces staring blankly up at him. "As you all should know by this point, I do not repeat myself, so if you have any questions about the rules, then I would hope that your teammates have paid more attention than you."

* * *

Draco was pacing, almost manically. "Ok. Nobody expected this, this test. So there's no way Potter could have prepared for things."

"We think," Zabini added, quite unhelpfully.

"Right. We think. Wait, what?" Draco was hardly listening to the input. "No. We don't think, we know. Professor Quirrell wouldn't give an advantage to anyone, much less Saint Potter."

"Unless he came up with a bunch of alternate strategies just in case something like this happened." Zabini chimed in again.

Draco considered this for a moment. "No, any strategy that he came up with, he would have to rehearse and plot in advance with other people. We would have heard something if Harry had started planning for a battle that was never to come. So, no, I think we're on a level playing field in that regard."

He began pacing again, but the manic shakiness had left his voice and he was speaking with more confidence, "There's no shame in admitting that Potter is more clever. So I think he'll likely come up with _something_. But magically, we've got him beat in terms of pure strength. But Harry knows that, so he's not going to engage us on those terms."

Dean Thomas piped up. "I was on Chaos Legion before the teams got redistributed. You're right that he's not going to engage us traditionally. But, I think he isn't going to engage us at all."

"Huh?"

"Well, think about it. Harry always talks about the Batman code of ethics."

"The what?"

"Batman. A Muggle superhero. It means, nobody dies. He doesn't have to save you, but he's not going to kill you. I think that's what it is. Every one of us he takes out, that's hurting us in the real world; we're losing marks off our grade. He's not going to want that. He's going to find a way to do it without having a battle at all."

Draco's eyes widened. "Merlin's beard, you're right. They're going to fan out. Probably break off into squads of two, maybe three. He'll order them not to engage if they see us, and they'll scour the woods until they find the Protectorates, and then they'll run like hell back to the Sanctuary."

Pansy raised her hand meekly, but then quickly put it down when she noticed multiple people staring at her. "But if they do that, then everyone else on their team will end up losing. At least, that's what I think the Professor said."

Draco waved this off. "Yes, that's what he said, but it's easy enough to develop a system of communication. Bubblers, magic mirrors, enchanted coins, even smoke signals. They find their Protectorate, they fire off the signal, then they all fall back to the Sanctuary."

"Small squads are going to be pretty weak, easy to pick off." Zabini offered.

"Right, so we need to play to our strengths. We stay together, sweep the forest as one unit."

"They'll be able to cover a lot more ground than us. They will find their charges before we do," Zabini argued.

"They might. But they don't just need to find them, they need to escort them safely back to the Sanctuary. Their Protectorates and their entire army. His troops will be spread out across the forest. No matter where we are, as long as we converge on the Sanctuary as soon as the endgame begins, we will reach it before the remainder of their army. Potter won't sacrifice the few to save the many. Batman ethics, as you say. He will wait until every last man is safe, and until then, he'll be vulnerable."

Zabini was nodding and didn't offer a rebuttal. Ron Weasley was considering this as well, "But how will we know the endgame has begun?"

"That… That is where I'm hoping someone in this army can help because I don't have any clue how we should do that."

Crickets.

Birds chirping.

Then silence.

Until the soft, vaguely distant voice of Luna Lovegood cast a pebble into the otherwise still pond, "We look for Wrackspurts."

"Wrackspurts?" Ron asked, incredulously. "What next? I suppose we should also look for Nargles in the mistletoe?"

Draco spat, "Can it, Weasley. Unless you have a better idea." Ron said nothing, so Draco pressed the point. "Well, do you?"

Ron looked at his feet. "No, I was just saying… Wait! What if we just wait by the Sanctuary, wait for them to come back, and then ambush them?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "We want to win, not just keep Potter from winning. How do we expect to find our charges if we're sitting here on our thumbs waiting for Potter and his army?"

"I, uh… well…"

Draco cut him off. "Luna, continue."

"Ron is right, you know," she added, not seeming to pay attention.

"He what?"

"Mistletoe. It's full of Nargles," she smiled and started twirling her hair a bit.

More crickets.

More birds chirping.

More silence.

Draco didn't want to interrupt whatever train of thought he assumed, or hoped, was running through Luna's mind, so he waited patiently.

"But, now that I think of it, they only come out when it's Christmas, or when love is in the air. So we don't need to worry about them." She nodded at Ron and then turned back to Draco. "If you want to see someone who's wearing an invisibility cloak, you don't look for them, you look for the Wrackspurts floating around their head. So we fill the forest with Wrackspurts."

"I don't know about you, Luna, but I didn't pack my bag full of Wrackspurts for this battle," Ron groaned, trying to save face by finding a flaw in Luna's plan.

Draco sighed and grit his teeth. "She's speaking metaphorically. Now. Shut. It."

Luna nodded, and then let out a small sound of affirmation. "Come to think of it, I did bring my Wrackspurt jar." She fiddled through her pack and pulled out what appeared to be a thoroughly empty glass jar, sealed with a wax and metal lid. She shook the jar a bit, then cooed at its contents. "But there aren't nearly enough of them. No, this is what I was thinking."

She hooked her wand in the air, making a delicate threading motion, and a thin, luminous stream of iridescent light extruded from the end. She guided it around the trunk of the tree, then continued stretching the silvery thread across a small clearing, and then wrapped it around another tree. She gave it a quick tug to test its strength, and when satisfied, she pointed her wand at the string and then whispered:

" _Xaphod Beeblebrox_."

She turned to Ron. "Walk through it, you'll see."

Ron looked ahead with great apprehension, "It's not going to… it's not gonna hurt me, is it?"

"No, of course not."

Ron started taking a few steps towards the thread, and Luna spoke again, half to herself, "Although my father did say that the famous shapeshifter, Andre the Androgynous, used that spell to change his gender…"

Ron froze, then gaped.

"Don't worry, I think he just made that up to sell Quibblers. He does that a lot, you know?"

"You don't say…" Ron was not entirely comforted by this addendum, but in absence of any other suggestions, he continued to step forward until he reached the silvery thread. Bracing himself, he walked forward, his muscles growing tenser as the line became more taut. Finally, when he could handle the suspense no longer, he took a quick step forward and the line snapped, sending a fantastic shower of glitter and sparks into the air, visible at least ten to fifteen feet above the tree line.

"If we string these up throughout the forest, starting at the Sanctuary and working outward, they might be able to avoid breaking them if they were treading carefully and softly. But if they were making a headlong rush back to the base, they'd be bound to give their position away."

Draco was nodding, deep in thought. "So if we start by making our way to the Sanctuary, then slowly working our way outward… I think that we need to go in a spiral pattern to make sure we cover all side." He did a bit of mental math. "As long as we work quickly, we should be able to cover most of the ground of the battlefield within an hour, maybe an hour and a half. So one of two things will happen, we'll either find our charges before Potter does, or sparks will start shooting out from around the forest, in which case we make a run for it back to the Sanctuary, dispatch Potter's army, and continue our search."

He turned towards the rest of the army. "It seems an easy enough spell to learn. We have 10 minutes until the battle starts, I want you all to practice it. Once you've mastered it, fall into position, and we'll start plotting our course.

* * *

Harry paced, almost manically. "Draco's going to know, at minimum, that we don't plan to engage. So he's going to bunch up, try to leverage his superior firepower and superior numbers. But… thanks to Angela, here," he gave big thumbs up to Angela Ziegler, who blushed, "We have a great combination of spells that can temporarily pause the battle, hopefully for just long enough for them to listen.

" _Malleus Descendum_ will knock them off their feet, and then, what was it again? 'The Ultimate Mercy'? It will… well… Angela, why don't you explain it?"

She kicked the dirt self-consciously but addressed the crowd. "It casts in a wide area. Anyone who is laying on the ground, whether they're unconscious, petrified, sleeping, or just laying down… It lifts them up a bit, and it bathes them in a barrier that doesn't let low-level spells either in or out. It's not going to help much against Avada Kedavra, but it would stop a Somnium or even a Stupefy."

Harry nodded with satisfaction. "Right, and in that time, that's when we try to get through to them. Shout, 'Merlin says, the rules are flawed, we all can win.' There are ex-Chaos Legionnaires in there, they'll know what 'Merlin says' means. They won't know what the rest of it means, but it might make them pause long enough to listen to us.

"You're permitted to fight to defend yourself, but under no circumstances are you to shoot to kill. Trip them up, immobilize them, but don't put them to sleep. Our goal is to win, not make the other group lose. If you make contact, send a message to the group. If your partner falls, send up green sparks in the air so we can track your location. When and if you locate the charges, send a message to the group and immediately fall back to the Sanctuary. If you come under attack and have our Protectorates with you, send red sparks into the air, and we will instead converge on your location."

Harry exhaled. "And finally, if you successfully convince Draco and his army of the fact that there's a bloody stupid loophole in these rules and we can all get an Outstanding, then fire blue sparks into the air, and there will be much rejoicing."

Harry's army nodded, solemnly, and began to break into pairs.

* * *

"Come on, get a move on. I hear Draco's army in the distance!" Harry whispered sharply at Applejack and Rainbow Dash. Applejack, in turn, gave a sidelong glance to Rainbow Dash.

Harry waved his hand back and forth. "What are you waiting for?"

Rainbow Dash rolled her eyes, and spoke in a hoarse voice that sounded more like a washed up pop signer than the more feminine rasp of her own voice. "I hope you particularly enjoy the incredible crassness of the moment when we try to squeeze an extra syllable into the fourth line."

Harry shook his head in frustration. "Damnit. Forgot about the Incantation of Babel. I wonder how far its effects extend… Can you understand hand signals?"

Harry's start down the rabbit hole was interrupted by his companion, the wispy blonde little Hufflepuff that Applejack recognized as Angela Ziegler. She spoke in an authoritative voice that seemed to fit her, despite her diminutive frame. "Harry, are you ready?"

Harry looked off in the other direction sharply, listening intently. Rainbow dash leaned in and she could hear the noise as well. Footfall, and lots of it. It was coming from the direction of the clearing opposite them.

With sudden urgency in his movement, Harry charged forward. Angela followed a few meters behind, with a bright golden tether of light emanating from her wand having attached itself to Harry. She was whispering something to herself as she ran… "I'll enjoy the quiet while it lasts…"

There was a sense of strange desperation in Harry's movement. His companion followed swiftly thereafter and the noise of the footfalls grew louder as he closed the distance to the clearing. Just as Harry reached the edge, a large group of students emerged, led by a boy with a pointed face and slick, platinum blonde hair.

With one final effort, Harry charged forward, holding his wand as if it were a hammer and then shouted in his own voice, " _Malleus Descendum!_ "

Harry was propelled forward with unnatural speed, and when his wand connected with the ground, a shockwave was sent towards the group of other students. When it hit them, they were all swept off their feet and Angela came charging in afterward, holding her wand high in the air and yelled, _"Helden Sterben Nicht!_ "

The battlefield was bathed in a blinding, golden light.

Dragon Army was desperately trying to reorient itself, many of their members trying to fire curses that fizzled unceremoniously in the golden light, but realizing that it was a futile effort, they reserved their magic and prepared for the effects of the barrier to wear off.

In that brief moment of calm, Harry shouted to the crowd. "MERLIN SAYS, THE RULES ARE FLAWED, WE ALL CAN WIN!"

And then both he and Angela tossed down his wands and held their hands up in the air in a clear gesture of surrender.

By that point, the barrier had faded away, and not sensing any immediate threat, the entirety of Dragon Army looked to Draco for direction.

Draco's mind was racing. The Professor's rules seemed to be solid. There was a very good chance this was a trap, a ruse designed to buy time until the rest of his army could arrive. But their tripwires hadn't been sprung; if Chaos Legion was closing in on them, they were doing it slowly and methodically. So he had time.

"Hands in the air. Keep your hands up. Walk away from your wands."

Harry did precisely what he was told, and the moment he felt he wasn't in imminent danger, the words tumbled out of his mouth as fast as he could think them. "Listen to me. The rules are flawed, there's a loophole. The game ends when the Protectorates cross the boundary and if everyone is in the Sanctuary and both teams Protectorates cross at exactly the same time, the game ends, everyone is alive, and we all satisfy the win condition and all we need to do is figure out a way to get the four of them to cross the boundary simultaneously but I don't really know how to do that since simultaneity is really just a macroscopic phenomenon and depends entirely on your reference frame, but Magic really doesn't seem to give a damn about quantum mechanics and-"

"Harry. Harry. HARRY! Shut up, I can't think." Draco was closing his eyes in concentration, then after a brief moment of silence, called out to his army. "Dragon Army, stand down!"

For a brief time, the only sound was the rustle of robes as wands were being put away.

"Now, Harry, please explain what the hell you are on about."

"Gladly. But first, would you mind shooting some blue sparks in the air?"


	12. Both Sides Now

"So." Harry reiterated. "All the members of both armies need to move into the safe zone. But we can't cast any magic once we're inside there, so the main questions are whether, firstly, Daphne's spell to get them into the Sanctuary at the same time will work, and secondly, whether we can communicate to the four of them the how to cast the spell. Which I am at a loss on both counts; I don't even know if they can use magic."

"Why wouldn't they be able to use magic? They're from Beauxbatons, they're not Squibs." Zabini interjected.

Harry had expected that someone would question this, and he had a response at the ready. "Because they don't have wands; I can only assume the professor has taken them away."

"So why don't we just give them one of ours?"

 _Crap._

Harry mentally kicked himself. He needed a reminder to start thinking three or four levels deep when simulating discussions. Unfortunately, unlike Draco, Harry did not have a tutor from the time he could start talking to teach him the fine art of lying through his teeth.

"Okay, give one to her, to Pinkie," Harry said, exasperated, and then quickly caught his mistake. "The pink one, I mean."

Luna volunteered and walked up to Pinkie Pie, handing over her wand. Pinkie nodded solemnly, and spoke in a thick, distinctly not-Pinkie accent, "My hovercraft is full of eels."

"The narwhal bacons at midnight," Luna responded, serenely.

"Wait, you can understand her?" Draco sputtered.

"Hmm? Oh, no. Not in the slightest." Luna smiled and stared off in the distance, twirling a lampshade that she was inexplicably carrying with her.

As a sidebar, Tracey Davis leaned over to Lavender Brown and whispered, "What is she even doing here? She doesn't even go to Hogwarts yet."

Lavender shrugged, "Madame Maxime granted her special disposition to participate. Overheard her talking to Professor Quirrell, something about needing a dotty character for comic relief, and then something or other about her having a such a big role in some kind of rolling cannon?"

At this point, Luna, who was clearly eavesdropping, hung the lampshade over her head and chimed in, "It doesn't at all sound like a cheap attempt at backpedaling to cover up a mistake in continuity."

Meanwhile, Pinkie was examining the wand curiously, holding it by the wrong end, testing its flexibility, and even trying to take a small nibble from it. "DO YOU want… Do you WANT… Do you want, to go back to my place, BOUNCY bouncy?"

"Right then." Draco shook his head. "Daphne, tell us again about the spell."

"Technically, it's a Class II Dark Spell, but no one ever really bothers with enforcing those classifications. It's designed to help thieves bypass magically locked doors. It teleports the target a few feet in a given direction."

"But crucially, it CAN be cast on multiple people simultaneously, correct?" Harry asked, partially to reassure himself.

"Of course." Daphne drew a pair of circles with her wand and spoke firmly, " _Hocerat Triumphi_!"

Harry and Draco both briefly glowed a dull blue, disappeared, and then immediately instantiated a few feet away past the barrier in a poof of orange light. Harry held his hands in front of himself, impressed.

Applejack, Rainbow Dash, and Fluttershy were watching intently. Applejack gestured and started speaking quickly to Pinkie Pie. "I'm glad you guys… skipped a class. We're having fun, aren't we?"

Rainbow Dash nodded in agreement. "I wanna play video games."

"We had a good conversation, knowwhatI'msayin'?" Applejack pointed to the barrier, then at Harry and Draco. She did a gesture to Pinkie Pie, pantomiming a rough approximation of Daphne's wand movement. "You! You're the ringleader here," she barked, and then let out a stream of gibberish, furiously sniffling as she explained something to Pinkie that was as comprehensible to everyone else watching as it was perfectly reasonable to Pinkie.

"Are you getting any of this?" Harry leaned over to Draco.

"Nope. I think she said something about 'getting in the fridge'? Anyway, it looks like she's understanding it. But, how are we going to teach them the incantation if we can't communicate with them? If they were from Durmstrang, there would be a good chance they knew the spell. But Beauxbatons isn't exactly famous for its acceptance of 'dark magic'."

The question was more or less answered for them as Pinkie worked her mouth around the unfamiliar words. "Hock-a-rat Tri-Umphrey."

A few students cheered in surprise, and Draco gaped at them, then turned, still open-mouthed, to Harry.

Harry just shrugged. "I'm kind of just learning to lean into it."

Seamus, who had been more silent than usual and wearing a stormy expression the entire time, finally spoke up. "You know, this all seems a bit too clever, this whole 'Everyone gets an Outstanding' plan. It's a bit cockamamie if you ask me. It's like the time my dad decided to spend his whole bonus at the tracks, told me mum he had a 'system' that was foolproof. Lost it all on three races."

Harry suddenly became acutely aware of the fact that Seamus was holding his wand, and Draco suddenly became acutely aware of several members of both Chaos Legion and Dragon Army shifting their robes in that telltale way of readying one's wand without making it obvious.

"Seamus, what you're experiencing is called the Semmelweis Effect. You're so used to the existing paradigm that you are reflexively rejecting evidence to the contrary."

"Don't condescend me. I did your anti-conformity training, just like the rest of Chaos Legion." Seamus spat.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Did you? You barely made a peep when you were supposed to be sneering! Face it, you expect things to be a certain way, and you don't like it when things don't meet those expectations."

Seamus muttered under his breath in reply, "I don't think Hermione would-"

 _Snap._

"HERMIONE-" Harry roared, "-wouldn't be DEAD if it weren't for you… you PUPPETS. You CHILDREN. If more than a handful of you had the guts to do anything besides what you've been told by an authority figure! Now just… just SHUT UP, and do what I say."

If the irony of that sentence occurred to anyone in the crowd, no one dared put a voice to it.

* * *

As they crossed the threshold of the Sanctuary and made their way back to the starting point, several students looked expectantly up at the scoreboard. They were puzzled to find that nothing had changed, that all their grades were still represented by hazy question marks.

They also saw Professor Quirrell sitting down on a wooden chair that almost looked like a throne on the dais in the clear. He had a vaguely annoyed expression on his face and was slowly clapping his hands sardonically.

Draco had a growing sense of apprehension in the pit of his stomach.

"Professor? The game is over." Harry said timidly, his final words being equal parts statement and question.

"Is it? It would seem that in your maddeningly endless quest to prove your own cleverness at the expense of all else, you failed to heed the rules. And worse still, you leveraged your position of authority to browbeat other students into accepting your own flawed interpretation. Mr. Finnegan was quite correct that I would not have allowed for such an obvious, elementary loophole in my final exam of all things."

Harry was dumbfounded, but he had at least enough sense to not even attempt an argument with the Professor when he was in this state. Although his voice was relatively calm, Harry could see that he was seething. He tested the waters, "What do you mean, Professor?"

The Professor repeated himself from before, "The game shall end in one of two conditions: when a team's Protectorates cross the bounds of the Sanctuary, or when the allotted time of two hours has elapsed. Both ending conditions come with certain consequences. Neither of those conditions has occurred. 'A team' implies the singular. The rules do not say, 'When one or more teams'. A team. A. One. There is a winner, and there is a loser. And your actions have seen to it now that there will be far more losers than winners

"You see, your friends," he gestured towards them with a half flourish, punctuated by a flick of his wrist, "From whom I have just now removed the Incantation of Babel, and can now understand what I am saying, are in a bit of a predicament. The only way for the game to end before the two-hour mark has elapsed, is for one of the two pairs to cross the threshold of the Sanctuary. The rules do not, incidentally, say anything as to which direction the crossing must occur. And yet, also as per the rules, at the moment they cross the threshold, any members of their team outside the bounds of the Sanctuary will forfeit the game."

"Including themselves…" Harry whispered.

"Yes, including themselves. Which put their team at quite a disadvantage… But then, what of the other team? The rules also happen to clearly state that whoever from the other team is within the Sanctuary at the time that their opponents' Protectorates cross the boundary, they will also forfeit the game. Now, of course, you can get around that by simply having the other team exit the boundary… The rest of the team, except for that team's Protectorates, of course. It's almost as if these awkward, circuitous rules were specifically designed to punish a student who would attempt to violate the spirit of the test."

Harry's mind was racing. It was questionable enough, drawing an arbitrary distinction between "a team" and "multiple teams". The sum of all integers greater than or equal to one is necessarily inclusive of the set of all integers equal to one. That said, he should have been tipped off by the unnecessary specificity of the rules. Arbitrariness was either the sign of a poorly designed system or a deliberate choice meant to avoid a particular outcome. Harry should have known that Professor Quirrell was not a poor game designer.

But then again…

"Professor, I have a question."

"I cannot promise to answer it, but either way, I would make it quick. The clock, as they say, is ticking."

Harry spoke quietly, in deference. "Will you be upset or angry if I act the part of the teacher toward you and teach a lesson? Even if I point out a mistake that is simple and obvious and makes you feel… stupid?"

"No," hissed Professor Quirrell. "Not if the lesson is true."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. "You see, I think you have a blind spot around strategies that involve doing _nice_ things for other people. To the point where it stops you from achieving your own values of self-interest. Perhaps you think… it's not your style, I suppose. In fact, that particular part of your self-image… May have cost you everything." Harry made eye contact and put hard emphasis on that last word.

He continued, "I asked you once when speaking of levels of anticipation, at what level did you play the game? Do you remember how you replied?"

"One level above you." The Professor replied, with a slight, twisted grin.

"Well… Somebody very wise once told me, sometimes the only winning move is not to play."

The Professor waited a moment as if expecting more than this. When nothing more came, he let out a slight, disappointed sigh. "I see. Very well, then. Make the choice of inaction, and see what that yields. Although I fail to see what your 'lesson' has taught me."

Harry shook his head. "That's not what I mean, and although I don't agree with your ambiguous wording and interpretation of the rules, I respect your right to dictate the terms of the game. But that's all it is: a game. This isn't life. Failure doesn't mean death. But, if I do fail here, it does mean that a large number of people who otherwise would have trusted my judgment and followed me at some point in the future, may now think twice. Which… now that I think about it, perhaps that was your intent."

The Professor gave a slight nod.

"So, if I were to do something _nice_ for the rest of the students at a personal cost to myself, then, well… _That_ , I think, would be the optimal strategy overall. For life."

The Professor narrowed his eyes, which momentarily flitted in the direction of a nearby banyan tree, tracking the movement of a fat blue jay which had dived down from the higher treeline comprised of the more mature trees. It was a rare momentary distraction which Harry barely noticed, but he said nothing.

"Casting magic inside the Sanctuary would forfeit the game… For one person. If I were to cast the same spell and transport the four of them outside the boundaries, then the game would be over for me. But it would give everyone else a second chance. So I can see that you were playing one level above me. But as such, I simply choose not to play at all."

Harry lifted his wand and pointed it towards Fluttershy, Rainbow Dash, Pinkie Pie, and Applejack. "I will make the sacrifice."

The Professor did not move, even when Harry was interrupted by a shout from near him.

"No!" Shouted Draco. "Harry, _I_ will make the sacrifice!"

Hushed whispers fell across the crowd, and Harry stared, nonplussed. "I… no. This wasn't your idea. I should be the one who takes the fall."

Draco leaned in to whisper to Harry, "Do you really think that I, a Malfoy, could not recover from one failing grade?"

 _Plus, you get major brownie points just for volunteering yourself, even if I don't let you sacrifice yourself. Well played, Draco, well played._

"Draco, NO!" Pansy Parkinson shouted, dramatically. "Don't do it! I'll do it! I'll sacrifice myself for you, er, I mean, for everyone. Choose me, Draco! Let it be me!" She held her hands together over her heart but was quickly shoved out of the way by Millicent Bulstrode, who lifted a beefy hand into the air.

"It shouldn't be that twig! Pick me! Let me do it! I'll make the sacrifice!"

Ron Weasley, quite put out at the idea of a Slytherin being more brave and altruistic than a Gryffindor, shot up his hand without any real idea of what he was getting into. "No. I'll make the sacrifice!"

Immediately, a handful of other Gryffindor first years who didn't want to be outshone by Ron Weasley of all people, also stepped forward, declaring "I'll make the sacrifice!"

At this point, several Hufflepuffs were visibly chuffing at this display of blatant virtue signaling. After all, loyalty and friendship were the virtues of Hufflepuff, not fire-headed Gryffindorks. "Stand down, men. I shall make the sacrifice." Ernie Macmillan shouted, imperiously.

Pinkie Pie, who was thrilled by the display of her absurdity, clapped her hands together and squealed, jabbing her hand into the air. "I am Spartacus!" But she quickly put her hand down again after Rainbow Dash gave her a quick nudge to the ribs. Applejack, meanwhile, had her arms folded and was watching the proceedings silently and with apparent displeasure. Fluttershy, on the other hand, was barely paying attention, sitting on the grass near a small banyan sapling, mounding dirt around its roots.

"This is, I admit… unexpected." The Professor managed through gritted teeth. "I suggest you determine which of you will give up your grade for the year quickly, as the two hours approach quickly. And not only are you racing against time, but I can assure you I will spend the remaining minutes until the game ends reviewing the rules, looking for a way to disallow this display of ridiculousness."

As he spoke, he strolled across the dais and leaned against a modestly sized tree. He leaned against it and folded his arms, but then looked up, annoyed, at a rotund little bird that was perched near his elbow. With a hard thud, he whipped out his fist and sent the tiny creature flying. It collided into a nearby tree with a sickening crack and then tumbled lifelessly to the ground.

In the ensuing din of discussion, no one noticed Pinkie Pie and Rainbow Dash staring, open-mouthed, glancing at each other with extreme apprehension. Nor did they notice Applejack, who was near the Professor, slowly back away, careful not to make any sudden movements.

They certainly did not notice the muffled, quiet gasp from Fluttershy, or the immediate tension that rippled throughout her delicate muscles. It barely registered when she slowly rose up, her fists balled, and only an exceptionally astute observer would have noticed that the rays of the sun flickering through the canopy played a trick of the light, making her eyes look a fiery red.

However, the assembled students could not help but notice when she stood on her tiptoes to face the Professors and screamed in a preternaturally loud voice: "NO!"

"That is absolutely ENOUGH! I have watched you this whole week, and the healthier you have become, the more awful you have behaved. You think that just because you're so dark and mysterious and powerful, that gives you the right to be terrible to everyone. Well, **GUESS WHAT?!** I've seen bad guys who are ten times as scary as you! Where I'm from, we have things that are _actually_ scary, but you think that just because you're the biggest, baddest, meanest wizard here at this school, or maybe even this entire land, you think that means something!"

She inched closer to Professor Quirrell's face. "Well, **CONGRATULATIONS!** You're the _scariest bunny at the petting zoo!_ "

Pinkie Pie clapped a hand over her mouth, and Rainbow Dash whispered to no one in particular, "You know she's mad when she takes the Bunny's name in vain."

"What else would I expect from a teacher who gets his kicks from wrapping little babies like him around his finger? I bet you've even convinced yourself that this whole evil-teacher persona is for some dark, nefarious purpose as if being here and being a huge _jerk_ ", she stamped her foot down to punctuate the word, "is somehow a more effective means of getting what you want!"

She gestured aggressively to her friends, "You are privy to a great becoming, but you recognize nothing! You are an ant in the afterbirth, a slug in the sun. It is in your nature to do one thing correctly: tremble. You live your whole life in fear, trembling at what you know to come, running away, always running. But dread it, run from it, death comes all the same. And you're just… sad! You're a sad, dying old man, and no one has loved you, no one will ever love you, and no matter how hard you try, you're going to die a stupid, cruel, pointless death **just like the rest of them!** You'll keep fighting it, and fighting it, and fighting it, and fighting it, you'll keep spinning stories to make yourself feel better and give some sense of meaning to your stupidly short and pointless existence, and it's not going to make one bit of difference! You were born too soon, you aren't one of the lucky ones, and you're going to **die here on this stupid rock and NOTHING YOU DO IS GOING TO MAKE A SINGLE BIT OF DIFFERENCE!** "

By the time she had finished, she was positively screaming at the top of her lungs. Two birds that were perched on her shoulder had gripped the edges of her cloak, lifting it up, creating the ominous impression of wings. A single snake, which had wriggled in from somewhere, had wrapped half of itself around her arm, and the other half was extended in the direction of the Professor, hissing menacingly at-

 _Was that a BLUE KRAIT?!_

The Professor, for his part, waited pleasantly for her to finish, with an almost bored, placid smile on his face. "Child, I'll think you'll find-"

Quite unexpectedly, he stuttered on his words. "I think you'll find-"

What.

"I think… I… Buh. Buh. Buhhhh."

 _ **THUD**_

What.

Fluttershy had just knocked out the Defense Professor using her words.

Fluttershy. Had just. Knocked Out. The Defense Professor.

 _With. Her. Words._

Or, at least, that's what it looked like. It was a coincidence, of course. It had to be, right? Harry knew that things like this didn't actually happen, that the simplest explanation was most likely the true one, that the Professor, although he was looking better, was not at 100% and even when he was, he was still prone to random fits of catatonia.

And yet, he couldn't deny it. This looked bad.

Meanwhile, Fluttershy spun around and glared at the crowd, the fire still dancing angrily in her eyes. "Does anyone else have anything mean they want to say?"

She surveyed the crowd manically, and a few people nearby quickly shook their heads.

"That's what I thought! Now **hug each other!** " She roared.

There was not a single person in the crowd who would dare defy her, and the only noise for a few moments was the sound of robes rustling and footsteps falling on the forest floor.

"And say something nice! And mean it!"

The crowd erupted into a stilted chorus of well-wishes, and as quickly as it had come on, the fire left Fluttershy's eyes, the snake wriggled back to wherever it had come from, and the birds had dropped her cloak back onto her shoulders.

"There. Isn't that better?" She asked, pleasantly.

The crowd said nothing, absolutely nothing, and no one even noticed when the two-hour mark had come and gone. The standard mechanism for enforcing forfeiture was an enchantment which caused the victim to fall asleep on the spot, but without the Professor's conscious magic empowering it, the two-hour mark passed without consequence. The scoreboard, however, being powered by a much more mundane magic, declared that the game had ended, and the grades for all of the students had suddenly flipped to "O" for Outstanding.

Normally, this would have been cause for great celebration, but the assembled crowd just stared, open-mouthed, at Fluttershy, while Hagrid, who had been waiting nearby for security and protection, awkwardly collected the Professor in his arms and carried him away to the hospital wing.

* * *

Internally, the Professor grinned wickedly as he feigned unconsciousness. It had been a last minute change of plan, but the boy had made an excellent point. He _did_ have a blind spot for strategies that involved being "nice".

And that was a mistake he planned to quickly rectify.


	13. Who Lives Who Dies Who Tells Your Story

_Hogwarts Hospital Wing  
June 22, 1992: The Longest Day_

 _This is happening too fast._

The Professor let out a wheezy, rheumatic cough, but said nothing. He had been getting better… or so it had seemed. But now, he could barely lift himself out of his bed.

This alone is the true Enemy, Harry thought. After this will come Professor McGonagall, Mum and Dad, even Neville in his time, unless the wound in the world can be healed before then.

There was nothing Harry could do. Madam Pomfrey was already doing for Professor Quirrell what magic could do, and magic seemed strictly superior to Muggle techniques when it came to healing.

There was nothing Harry could do.

Nothing he could do.

Nothing. Nothing at all.

"Look who's being Mister Sad Pants again!" Pinkie exploded into both the room and the foremost compartment of Harry's train of thought.

"Hi," Harry said flatly, as the remaining five came through the hospital wing entrance. Madam Pomfrey visibly chuffed until she saw Fluttershy, at which point she studiously put her head down and looked at the papers in her hands as though they were the most interesting thing that Hogwarts had to offer.

He figured they were here more to see him, moreso than the Professor, but that notion was dispelled as they marched directly past him and to the bed in the corner that was conspicuously occupied.

"Rarity! You're finally awake! I guess you, uh, got enough beauty sleep, huh?" Applejack spoke softly as she placed her hand on the unknown witch's shoulder.

"Of… Of course, darling." She managed, hoarsely, and lifted herself up a bit. Harry felt an intense wave of guilt as he saw her wavy, purple locks fall against her starkly pale face. Similar to the way that Minerva McGonagall's animagus form looked like someone had squashed a stern Scotswoman into a cat's body, this witch looked as though someone had taken a unicorn and abstracted it up into human form.

He could see that she was _supposed_ to be very pretty, but his body wasn't wired to think that way, at least not yet. Even still, he couldn't help but feel stricken by her appearance, if not partially because he had come within a dog's bark of poisoning her with a combination of flunitrazepam and a particularly potent brew of the Draught of Living Death (the former of which had been provided to him by a particularly slimy Muggle-born Gryffindor sixth-year who winked at him far too many times for him to feel comfortable).

Pinkie Pie gestured to Harry to come to join them, and for lack of anything else to do, he complied. He waved awkwardly as he approached her bed, "Hi. I'm Harry. We've, uh… we've met."

"I'm Rarity. Charmed, my darling." she managed with a smile and extended her hand.

"Nice to meet you, Rarity Charm," and without really understanding why, he took her extended hand and kissed it. He barely had a moment or two to mentally kick himself for such an absurd gesture of telegraphed chivalry before he was interrupted by noticing the bandages wrapped tightly around her wrist, stained through with an iridescent, silvery liquid.

Creeping out from underneath with the bandage was something that looked distinctly like a wound.

A slash wound.

Although he was too young to really be thinking about that sort of thing, for the most part, he was definitely aware of what that sort of wound _meant_ , and was thoroughly unequipped to handle it. His default mode of response, 'tell an adult', seemed wholly inappropriate for this sort of situation.

"It's just 'Rarity', dummy." Rainbow Dash cackled, breaking him out of his momentary unpleasant reverie.

Harry quickly pulled her aside for a brief sidebar, "What do you mean? So you know about her… uh… tendencies?"

"What do you mean, 'tendencies'? Her tendency to put on a full face of makeup even when she's in a hospital bed? Sure, I know about that."

Harry narrowed his eyes a bit and whispered. "No, I mean… her, um…" and for lack of any other way to efficiently communicate his concern, he made a crude slicing gesture across his own wrist, and once again began to immediately kick himself mentally.

Now it was Rainbow Dash's turn to narrow her eyes, which quickly darted over to Rarity's wrists, which she grabbed and held up to look at. "Rarity, what did you do?" she demanded.

Rarity smiled and waved her off. "Just a trifling, darling. That school teacher over there needed it far more than I did."

Fluttershy was smoothing Rarity's hair while Pinkie was poking the dressing of the wound curiously. Applejack, on the other hand, was standing with her fists on her waist. "Why exactly would _he_ of all people need your blood?"

"Yeah- wait. Why- what? Blood?!" Harry stammered.

Rainbow Dash rolled her eyes. "So much for secrecy, huh?"

Applejack ignored her. "Rarity."

Harry, for his part, ignored Applejack's questioning and was attempting an interrogation of his own. "What do you mean, her blood?"

Applejack turned towards him and heaved a sigh. "Harry, I know that _not_ saying something is often just as bad as a lie. So for that, I'm sorry. I'd say it's not our fault, but it's not in the Apple family nature to shirk responsibility. We were dishonest, I was dishonest, and now it's time to tell you the truth. Where we come from, she's a unicorn. A real unicorn."

Harry blinked, shook his head briefly, and muttered, "Like an Animagus… right?"

Applejack shook her head. "I've heard that word a few times here. It means a person who can turn themselves into an animal, right?" Harry nodded weakly in response, and she continued. "Well, she's the opposite of that. We all are, for that matter. She's a unicorn who can turn into a person. And we… well, I'm a pony. Me and Pinkie Pie. And Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy her are Pegasi."

Harry said nothing. What was there to say?

Rarity gestured her hand outward, and her forehead glowed a slight pink, and a vision was cast out into the room, like a portal had been torn between this world and another world that existed as a two-dimensional, cel-shaded animation. Arranged in various poses were five ponies that undoubtedly corresponded to the five witches in front of him.

Applejack, with her cowboy hat and a loose ponytail, looking casually off in the distance. Rarity, a brilliantly white unicorn, her eyes closed as if in pain, looking down. Rainbow Dash soaring through the air as if preparing for a confrontation, and Fluttershy, hoof to her mouth, staring aghast. And finally, Pinkie Pie, exploding out to greet them with a manic grin.

Below them were jagged slashes of black, and a muted purple light bathed another pair of unicorns, who looked both lost and like they were trying to find something, or someone. One was a unicorn with a soft purple coat and sharp bangs with a shock of magenta. The other was more of a tan, beige-ish color coat with long, flowing chestnut curls and… was that a book branded into her coat?

"Who are those two?"

"One of them is Twilight Sparkle. She's the one we're here trying to find. We think… well, we're worried that the worst has happened. She's the key to unraveling this whole mess."

"And the other?"

"Well, that's the tricky wicket here." Applejack screwed up her eyes and looked at the seventh pony in the vision. "We have no idea. And we know everypony in Equestria."

"So… what exactly does this have to do with-"

"Unicorn's blood, provided from a live unicorn, has rather amazing curative properties, even when the host does not expire in the process." The Professor was now standing, albeit unsteadily, near his hospital bed.

"Professor Quirrell!" Harry shouted.

"Hello!" Fluttershy pleasantly tittered.

"You." Applejack glowered.

"Darling!" Rarity gushed.

"Him?" Rainbow Dash asked, not really understanding what was happening.

"The world turned upside down!" Pinkie Pie sang.

The Professor looked wistfully out the window and wheezed again, this time coughing up a viscous, silver fluid, which trickled inelegantly down the corner of his mouth.

Harry rushed to his side, "Professor, are you okay?"

Rarity stood, and held her wrist up to him, and began unwinding the bandage. Harry felt indecent, watching the bandage fall away to reveal her bare skin, the open wound. It reminded him very much of the visceral, gut-wrenching experience of gazing upon vivisected frogs during his biology lessons which seemed to have happened ages ago.

"As I said, he needs it more than I do. I've heard whispers of how important this teacher is to our new friend." She inclined her head toward the other four who were watching her. Fluttershy and Applejack turned away, but Rainbow Dash and Pinkie Pie couldn't help themselves but watch.

"Well… speaking of lost. Will someone care to explain what-" Comprehension suddenly dawned upon Harry as the Professor clamped his mouth down on Rarity's wrist and began drinking her blood. Harry watched the rapturous shudders which proceeded for an uncomfortably long time. He wondered how long Rarity would be able to take it before passing out, and found himself doing a brief Fermi calculation…

 _Five liters of blood in a small, female body. One liter before hemorrhagic shock. A wound six centimeters in length, one centimeter wide, maybe two, tops. Six by two is twelve square centimeters, and one liter is 1000 cubic centimeters which, wait, how do fluid dynamics work again?_

Pinkie Pie, who had evidently grown bored with watching the gruesome display, bounced over to Harry. "I might as well fill you in since you're going to ask sooner or later. We come from Equestria. It's another world, contained within this one. Or, you could say your world is contained within ours. It's two sides of the same mirror, really. No one really knows for sure, except maybe Princess Celestia and Princess Luna, or maybe Starswirl the Bearded. Actually, there are probably a lot of people who know for sure, we're just not one of them."

She had to stop for a moment, as she had a bad habit of talking for quite some time without drawing a breath. After she collected herself, she continued, "We're ponies where we come from, but that's really just a metaphor. Or is it a simile? Or maybe it's a euphemism."

Harry rolled his eyes, "I see you and Rainbow Dash have been talking."

"We conform to expectations. Kind of like your Dementoids. Here, people expect us to be, well, people. So we're people. But there, people expect us to be ponies. So we're ponies. Except for Rarity, because apparently, you all have unicorns here. So when she came here, she was a unicorn. Until you tried to kill her."

Harry grimaced and stammered a weak apology.

"Don't fret, love. It's a confusing time for all of us." Rarity turned to him, as the Professor had apparently had his fill and was wiping the corners of his mouth. "I can't say that I blame you; he's your friend, and you didn't know. But I've been trying to keep him healthy since I arrived."

Professor Quirrell made a short sound, under his breath, that might have been laughter. "You know, boy," Professor Quirrell whispered, "I had thought... to teach you everything... the seeds of all the secrets I knew... from one living mind to another... so that later, when you found the right books, you would be able to understand... I would have passed on my knowledge to you, my heir... we would have begun as soon as you asked me... but you never asked."

Even the grief surrounding by Harry like thick water gave way to that, to the sheer magnitude of the missed opportunity. "I was supposed to - ? I didn't know I was supposed to - !"

Another coughing chuckle. "Ah yes... the unknowing Muggleborn... in heritage if not in blood... that is you. But I thought... better of it... that you should not walk my path... it was not a good path, in the end."

"It's not too late, Professor!" Harry said. A part of Harry yelled that he was being selfish, and then another part shouted that down; there would be other people to help.

"It may very well be too late... although I cannot pretend to disallow myself from being persuaded otherwise… That said, I have... thought better of it... I am too full... of secrets better left unknown... look at me."

Harry looked, almost despite himself.

He saw a still-unwrinkled face, looking old and pained, beneath a head rapidly losing its hair, even the sides looking wispy now; Harry saw a face he'd always thought was sharp, now revealed as thin, muscle and fat fading away from the face, as from the arms beneath it, like the skeletal form of Bellatrix Black he'd seen in Azkaban -

Harry's head wrenched aside, unthinkingly. Professor Quirrell breathed in, breathed out. There was quiet for a time in the infirmary, the two of them watched intently by the five witches, or ponies, or unicorns, or whatever the hell they were supposed to be.

As if motivated by the Professor's display of strength and candor, Rarity also stood up from her hospital bed and walked over to the two of them. "Darling, I think you'll find that we are quite adept at rescuing… how shall we say… 'lost causes'."

Professor Quirrell looked up at her and smiled, cruelly, "And are you certain you too will not be lost along the way?"

Rarity's laugh was a tinkling, pleasant sound. "After what we've been through?"

The Professor inclined his head towards her. "Sadly, although it helps temporarily, it is not permanent. You see," whispered the Professor. "I dislike to sound cliched... Mr. Potter... but the truth is... the Arts called Dark... really are not good for a person... in the end."

He looked out the window and continued to speak to no one in particular. "I imagine death so much, it feels more like a memory." He directed the next words at Harry, without looking at him. "This is where it gets me. On my feet, the enemy in front of me. If I see it coming, do I run? Or do I let it be?"

Harry looked up at his mentor defiantly. "Neither. You fight it. You do what you can, you do _everything_ you can."

The Professor did not turn to look at him. "And you, why do _you_ always fight like you're running out of time?"

Without missing a beat, Rarity, Applejack, Rainbow Dash, Fluttershy, and Pinkie Pie struck a pose and spoke in unison. "Because that's what friends do."

"One thing," whispered Professor Quirrell. "There is one thing... that might do it... or it might not... but to obtain it... is beyond your power, or mine..."

Professor Quirrell took in a deep breath. Exhaled. "I'm sorry... that came out... too dramatic. Do not... get your hopes up... Mr. Potter. You asked... for anything... no matter how unlikely. There is... a certain object... called..."

"The Philosopher's Stone?" Harry interrupted.

The Professor's eyes narrowed. "Have you heard it spoken of?"

"I read of it in a book. At first, I concluded it was an obvious myth, that it if it were a real object, that every sane person would be researching ways to make more Stones, or kidnapping the maker to produce them. I thought of you specifically."

"You say, 'At first'."

"Yes… But I have learned that there are many things whose absurdity hide their true secrets. Like our five friends, over there. I suspect that the Stone's true power is to render Transfigurations permanent. Including human Transfigurations."

The Professor did not move. "Dumbledore has said nothing of the Stone's holder, nothing of the stone? No hints?"

"Not that I can easily recall," Harry replied, telling a half-truth.

"Ah. You are correct in your assumption. But incorrect, in a way. I am impressed that you have seen beyond the surface-level deception. There is yet another level to the deception. Tell me, boy, why do you suppose the Stone would possess such eldritch power?"

Harry was deep in thought, not pondering the answer to the question, which Dumbledore had already provided, but considering whether to reveal the extent of his knowledge. He wasn't sure of the direction this conversation was taking, so he thought it best to be conservative.

"It's clearly more than a simple enchantment, or even a complex one. Its power seems more… fundamental. Primordial."

The Professor had now turned to him and nodded, impressed. "You are on the right track. Credible rumor suggests that the Stone does more than simply manipulate and control Transfiguration; it, in a way, _is_ Transfiguration. It is suggested, contained within its limitless bounds are all active Transfigurations being maintained across the whole of Wizardkind."

At this, Applejack gasped. "The Element of Honesty."

The Professor's eyes widened momentarily but quickly covered for it by coughing loudly. "The Element…"

Applejack continued, "One of the six Elements of Harmony. I didn't realize they existed here as well. Although, I suppose they would exist on this world, on every world."

The Professor's pulse was racing. It was time. The pieces were falling into place, and although he was playing up the severity of his condition considerably, he had limited time, and it was time to act. He put his hand into his robes and removed from it a polished stone, and released his control of the magic. It expanded slowly to become a finely inlaid golden diadem, set with nine blue gems and crowned with a massive, star-shaped jewel.

The five witch-ponies gasped audibly, and the Professor seized the moment. "Your friend, Twilight Sparkle, is dead. I found her in the Forbidden Forest not long before you arrived. I… Harry and I share the same mind when it comes to the value of my life. Only, I did not rely on poisoned sugar cubes in order to obtain what I was looking for."

Rainbow Dash's fists were balled and she took a step towards him. "You… you killed her?"

The Professor nodded firmly. "I did. I learned a valuable yesterday following my final exam, and I confess that I underestimated the five of you when you arrived. But it seems that I do have a certain blind spot. Not just for strategies involving 'being nice', as you put it, Harry, but for many things. Generosity. Honesty. Laughter. Kindness. Loyalty."

He nodded at Rarity, Applejack, Pinkie Pie, Fluttershy and Rainbow Dash, in turn. Rainbow Dash stopped her advance but still looked furious.

"Oftentimes, the bravest thing someone can do is tell the truth, especially when it is painful, embarrassing, or damaging. I set in motion the chain of events that led to her death, yes. For that, I am truly sorry. But she gave this to me before she passed. She told me… that Starswirl had sent her here in order to avert the prophecy, and that I needed to help her."

Rainbow Dash faltered. There was no way he could have known that unless she told him. "Why… why did she tell you that?"

"She looked into me, she knew that I was remorseful. She saw that my intentions, although selfish, were not cruel or evil. She told me… That there was no way I could have known what she was. And if it was right to eat a beast to feed yourself for a day, then it had to be right to drink a unicorn's blood in order to stave off death for weeks. She did not begrudge me what I had done, for once I had seen the truth, I used the fullness of my magic to try to save her."

Applejack was openly weeping, "And… you weren't able to, were you?"

Pinkie Pie was staring at the diadem that the Professor was still holding, cocking her head as she examined it. Before the Professor could reply, she chimed in. "Hmmmm…. Are you _sure_ you didn't attack her to try to drink her blood but then stop because she did something unexpected like spoke your language or uttered some ancient prophecy that you and only you would know and on a side note you probably created Harry as some sort of clone of yourself which explains a lot now that I think about it but anyway then you pretended like it wasn't you that attacked her in the first place and then gazed into her mind to pick out one or two pieces of vague yet specific pieces of information in order to gain her trust and pump her for information before consuming her lifeforce in a gruesome display of borderline inappropriate rapture and then took her crown for yourself and you've only been pretending this entire time to be good but actually you're really, extremely, bad, terrible, evil and awful?"

Everyone stared open-mouthed at her except the Professor. "I can see why you like her the most," he quipped dryly.

Harry was busy processing Pinkie's 'hunch'. "No, that doesn't make sense. Why… why would he bother showing us that crown, which obviously means something very significant to you all, or even admit it in the first place? I can't… I can't think of any possible way that could advance his plan if he were somehow evil. Which, wait- what _is_ your plan anyway, Professor?"

Pinkie Pie shrugged, "If Harry believes you, I believe you! Besides, his plan is to steal the Element of Honesty!"

The Professor nodded. "Or, as we call it, The Philosopher's Stone. It's the one thing... that can save my life... and I find, now... I don't want to die."

"Is that why you came to Hogwarts in the first place?"

"After a fashion, yes. I had come to learn that the owner of the Stone felt it was in danger and sent it to Hogwarts to be placed under the protection of Albus Dumbledore. It took a handful of weeks to discern its location, and I have spent the better part of the year devising how I might obtain it. I confess that it had not occurred to me until your bit of advice and her admonition," he leaned towards Fluttershy as he spoke, "that simply asking for help would have been a prudent course of action.

"Not because I have overlooked options that involve doing 'nice' things for others, as you assumed. After all, one cannot avoid the implicit quid pro quo that comes along with an unsolicited favor. But rather, I had not considered that _other people_ would be interested in _being nice_."

Fluttershy looked at him inquisitively. "That doesn't make sense. People are nice all the time."

"Ah, perhaps I was not specific enough. I had not considered that other people would be interested in being nice _to me_."

"That's… kind of sad." Rainbow Dash said flatly, which was followed murmurs of agreement from the four other witches and Harry.

"As it happens, there is _something nice_ that I am able to do for you Harry, and the four of you. Harry, you stole Miss Granger's remains and Transfigured them into some innocuous-appearing target, did you not?" asked Professor Quirrell. "A Transfigured target that you must keep somewhere about your own person, in order to sustain the Transfiguration."

Harry's mind reeled from the sucker punch of the sudden change of conversational course. "Y-yes," he stammered weakly.

Quirrell held his hand out, and Harry took off his left shoe, and his left sock, and took off the toe-ring that was Hermione Granger, the Transfigured shape identical to the toe-ring that had been given Harry as an emergency portkey.

While Harry was doing this, Professor Quirrell removed from his robes a small, violet stone, and placed it into his outstretched palm next to the ring.

"Whoever holds the Philosopher's Stone is able to perform human Transfiguration. Come with me, help me to obtain the Stone, and I will resurrect Hermione Granger on your behalf. Her death has had unfortunate effects on you, and I would not mind undoing them. That, as I understand you, is your greatest desire. I have done you many kindnesses, and I would not mind doing you this one more."

He then turned to the five witches who were staring, open-mouthed at him. "And I shall resurrect your friend, this 'Twilight Sparkle' as well. I have seen the kindnesses that you perform for each other. I have performed many wrongs during my life, and it is a rare opportunity that one gets the opportunity to right such a wrong. It is an even rarer occasion that I would even care to right such a wrong in the first place. I do not think I would like to pass up this confluence."

Rainbow Dash was bouncing nervously on her heels, a coiled spring, ready to burst into action, "So what are we waiting for? Where are we going?"

"To the third-floor corridor, I expect," Harry said.

* * *

 _Five Minutes Later_

Spike was roused slowly from his sleep by the scritching of the fur behind his ears. It was such a pleasant dream, filled with squirrels to chase and admiration showered upon him. But he certainly didn't mind being woken up like this. He had been lying by Rarity's side since she arrived in the hospital wing, and had little opportunity for social interaction besides growling at the suspicious, spindly stranger that Rarity kept visiting with. Fortunately, it seemed like he was gone, as Spike's half-closed eyes focused on the empty bed.

"Good morning, Rarity. Or, good evening, I guess," he murmured sleepily at her.

"Salutations, daaaaaaaahling. How exquisite! How radiant! How convivially splendiferous!" a voice that was very distinctly _not_ -Rarity oozed in an over-the-top accent.

Spike's eyes snapped open, and he realized that the hand scratching him behind his ears wasn't so much a hand as it was a-

-a claw.

"DISCORD!"

"Oh, hello, little one!" Discord cackled as he shoveled popcorn into his mouth with one of his feet. "Can you believe it? They bought the Professor's story, hook, line, and sinker!"

"Huh, what are you talking about. Where's Rarity?"

"Oh, she left not five minutes ago! Went off on a misadventure down in the third floor corridor, along with that 'suspicious, spindly stranger' and the Boy-who-Lived." Discord grinned.

"They… they left without me?" Spike looked down at the ground and pawed the floor.

"But aren't you used to being an afterthought by now?"

"Yeah, but- wait, no! I'm not an afterthought!" Spike protested. "I knew he was bad news! Which way did they go? I'm going after them!"

"Not so fast, there, Lassie. If you really want to help, I've got something far more important you can do."

Spike ignored him as he fully crawled out from underneath the bed and started loping towards the door.

"It's something that might save Rarity's li-i-ife." Discord cooed in a sing-song voice.

That had the intended effect and stopped Spike in his tracks. "Ra… Rarity's life is in danger?"

"Of course it is, you silly goose. She's in way over her head."

"How do I know I can trust you?" Spike began walking back towards Discord.

"You can't, but then again, why would I lie?" Discord scratched his chin with a large foam question mark that materialized out of nowhere. "Well, it would be spectacularly hilarious to see you work yourself into a fit over the thought of your unrequited crush shuffling off this mortal coil."

"You're not helping."

"No, I suppose I'm not. But the truth rarely helps, haven't you found? The truth of the matter is, I have just as much invested in this as you do. You don't want to see Rarity die, I don't want our story to end on such a downer note. Besides, just think of it as another game of Ogres and Oubliettes. Except instead of fighting the Squizzard, you're going on a little scavenger hunt."

"A scavenger hunt? Are you serious?"

"No, I'm Peter Pettigrew!"

When Spike didn't say anything in response, a neon laugh track sign appeared above Discord's head, flashing on and off.

"No one? That's the second time I've used that joke. Well, phooey. Yes, I'm serious."

Discord produced a thick metal glove and plunked it down on the ground. It was less of a glove and more of a gauntlet, covered with thick, polished bronze plates, and had six irregular-shaped slots: one over each knuckle, and another on the opposite side of the palm.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" Spike asked as he inspected the device. He tried to poke it, but his snout passed right through it. Discord sighed loudly as the gauntlet wavered, then flickered out of existence.

"Ah yes, I keep forgetting that pesky limitation. All for the best, I suppose. We'd probably get the pants sued off of us if we went down that road. Here, you can use that," Discord gestured a mismatched claw at the greyish, fraying pillowcase on the hospital bed.

Spike hopped up and snatched the pillowcase with his teeth. "This?" he asked through a mouthful of cloth.

"Yes. We shall call it… The Limit of One Over X as X Approaches Zero Sack. Now, let's walk through what you need to do."


End file.
